


Sorrow's Spectrum

by Talonticus



Series: Unbound Bulwark [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Adventure-ish, Dialogue Heavy, Drama, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Humor, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Multi, Occasional violence, Romance, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Wrath of the Lich King
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-14 08:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 120,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talonticus/pseuds/Talonticus
Summary: It has been several years since the Scourge invasion of Quel'thalas and the destruction of the Sunwell. Despite its resurrection after the defeat of the treacherous former Prince, there is still one element that remains of the scar in the collective mind of the sin'dorei.Two women, whose lives were broken apart and separated due to those events, are making their own journeys to the cold north. One hopes for answers to questions she doesn't know how to ask, and another joins her friends as they wish to help prevent disaster. The sorrow of Northrend awaits.





	1. In the moon's embrace

**Author's Note:**

> **Main characters:** Rivaryn Silvershroud (Female Blood Elf Hunter OC), Thariss Dusksong (Female Night Elf Warrior OC), Raxeen (Trans-Female Draenei Paladin OC), Nadelgosa (Female Blue Drake OC), Ashindra Revenor (Female Blood Elf Paladin OC), Melia Haven (Female Human Priest OC)  
>  **Secondary characters:** Kassari Silvershroud (Female Blood Elf Mage OC), Khroga Steelfang (Female Orc Shaman OC), Trienza Shadespire (Female High Elf Death Knight OC)  
>  **Minor characters:** Javynna Dusksong (Trans-Female Night Elf Priest OC), Razz (Male Raptor companion), Germark Steelfang (Male Orc Death Knight OC), Deradgos (Male Blue Dragon OC), Aruunel (Female Draenei Shaman OC), Stellagosa, Senegos  
>  **Main relationships:** Rivaryn/Thariss, Raxeen/Nadelgosa, Ashindra/Melia  
>  **Minor relationships:** Kassari/Khroga
> 
> _Hello there, I'm Claire Talon or Talonticus. This is, as you probably noticed from the name of the series, the continuation of the story about my WoW characters and their group of mercenaries. This one goes to Northrend._
> 
> _For those who don't know, this is sort of a re-release of this fic, with a different setup and structure. I wasn't entirely satisfied with the pacing and direction of the last one and therefore decided to rethink it. Took me eleven chapters to realize, but better late than never, I guess_   
>  _I sort of just sat down and wondered what it was I really wanted to focus on and realized that, well, this story is basically about a few specific characters...and most of them are elves. This series has mainly been about about Rivaryn and Thariss, plus their families and close friends. Any new character I add will have to be one with an already pretty extended backstory._   
>  _Raxeen is one that I had made a lot of plans for beforehand, but that wasn't the case for some of the other new characters, so I scrapped some of them._   
>  _Well...not scrapped, but postponed for now, to see what else I can do with them._
> 
> _I figured that I should instead try to focus on what I left open in the last story - and partially in Felstruck eclipse a while back - and therefore, it's probably time to give Ashindra some of the spotlight too._   
>  _So yeah, this new version of Sorrow's Spectrum has two separate paths, I guess - one is about Riv, Thariss and Rax as they travel to Northrend to help Nadelgosa, and the other is about Ash and...well, a new character, but one that will become important to her. Their section will partially be about Ash trying to find a new path in life, how they bond and fight the Scourge together. You'll see more later._   
>  _This fic will alternate between these two groups, one chapter at a time (sort of). We start with the trio in the first chapter, then Ash in the second, trio in the third chapter etc._   
>  _Due to the nature of this story, they will obviously have the chance to meet up later on too._
> 
> _Profiles and screenshots for both main and secondary characters can be found[on my blog](https://creativebankruptcies.blogspot.com/2018/12/wow-characters.html). I'll update it once more characters appear._
> 
> _Note: This fic stars a black woman as one of the protagonists. I'm a white writer, so I welcome any feedback from fans of color regarding her._
> 
> _Anyway, hope you enjoy it._

The White Lady, the Mother, Elune, Mu’sha – the largest moon above Azeroth has many names, different identities that people know it by. In most places, it is cherished as an entity of warmth, safety and support, as it prevents the denizens beneath its light from feeling abandoned and alone. Whether your vision in the darkness is useful or not, once the white moon has risen, you are not left in obscurity, nor to fear the shadows that accompanies it. Perhaps not a universal truth, but comforting nonetheless.

Rivaryn has almost gotten used to staying up all night long whenever she comes to Kalimdor with her girlfriend. She cannot deny the truth that it’s rather strange to not be exposed to the brilliant light of the sun, a concept which her own people find so endearing, but she respects the strength that the moon offers as well.  
The appeal of Elune is quite fierce to her, as she acknowledges what this goddess does for her girlfriend’s people. It does also make her wonder if the same embrace would ever be offered to her. Should she wish to, could she be accepted into Elune’s arms as well or be rejected due to her origin?

While she would like to focus on these thoughts and ponder what choices are available to her, there are other aspects in her surroundings, more enticing events transpiring nearby.  
On a small field not too far from the house within Auberdine that belongs to her girlfriend's parents, enclosed by a small fence, stands two people. If one were to make a guess based on the stances and the hurried movement, it would be possible to assume that they’re testing each other out.

Compared to the blood elf, the tall and muscular duo – a draenei and a night elf - is usually wearing heavier armor in most scenarios whenever they’re travelling. This is not the case tonight, as they are both dressed in nothing more than some short-sleeved shirts and pants, without shoes. Well, not like Raxeen could use the latter anyhow. Hooves aren’t compatible.  
In Thariss’ hands, it’s possible to see a sturdy wooden shield and a pretty average sword of the same material. Rax’s weapon is also made of wood, but she wields a staff instead. The paladin had hoped for a hammer of some kind, to match what she uses in the field, but that doesn’t seem to be an option at this time. This is a decent replacement, though.

For now, Thariss tries to keep her eyes sharp and her attention firmly trained on Rax’s movements. The draenei herself is watching Thariss’ stance, constantly hoping to find weak spots that she can exploit.  
After a few hesitant seconds, the bustling nose of combat starts again, as Rax charges ahead, trying to go for an overhead strike. Just as Thariss’ raises her shield to counter it, Rax changes her mind halfway through the action – a feint. Instead, she quickly turns it sideways and attempts to swing again.

It appears that Rax must try a little bit harder, as the trick doesn’t work. Thariss still manages to lower her shield in time to block the first hit and then evades the second, shortly before she tries to counter. With the paladin’s weapon lowered, Thariss tries to lash out with her blade, hoping to score a quick point before Rax has a chance to close it, but it’s not enough. The staff deflects it at the last second, and they both take a step back.

Switching the position of her grip, Rax pulls out the staff as far as she can get and prepares for a wide sweeping attack. This move isn’t particularly quick, unfortunately, and with Thariss pretty adequate reflexes, she can jump over it, giving her a slight advantage. She lowers her defenses temporarily and runs towards the draenei, while attempting to slash at her. Rax’s parrying opportunities are pretty limited at this time, so all she can do is jump away, something she forces herself to perform.

It doesn’t stop there, as Thariss got a taste of blood – so to speak – and she drives her offensive further, hoping to push the draenei into making a mistake. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long enough to be useful. Rax has too much combat experience to be suppressed this way.  
During one of Thariss’ wild swings, she manages to deflect the sword with her staff, before angling her body to elbow the night elf in her abdomen, knocking her backwards. She had clearly not expected this.

What surprises the kaldorei even more is when Rax, instead of attacking, actually attempts to stomp at Thariss’ exposed feet.  
“Hey!”, she yells once she manages to evade it. “No stomping, dammit!”

With the elf being too focused on the hooves now, Rax smirks and notes how she has finally received a good opportunity to make a smart move.  
Before Thariss even has a chance to react, she feels how the sword is knocked out of her hand. She widens her eyes as she realizes that she got disarmed and now only has one chance of staying in this fight. She can’t allow herself to lose, can she?

Continuing without a sword, Thariss tries her best to block the barrage of strikes delivered from Rax, doing a fairly good job at stopping most of what comes at her, but it’s not enough. Her right side is too open, and she can do little else with it other than keeping it hidden. It won’t last forever.  
Eventually, without Thariss having noticed, the paladin has forced her closer to the house wall, knowing she will soon be cornered. This is where the match will end.

At just the right moment, when Thariss is surprised as she bumps into the wall, Rax delivers a quick hit with the butt of her staff into the warrior’s abdomen to make her buckle and then directs it just beneath her neck, holding it in that position. To emphasize her victory, she pushes herself very close too, their bodies being connected and their similarly colored eyes staring into one another.  
With both of them breathing rather heavily, it’s almost annoying to Thariss how smug her friend looks.

“I suggest you give up, ex-Sentinel.”

Despite her physical fatigue, Thariss can’t help but smirk at the same time. Rax does have her, but it’s not like the staff is a deadly weapon. She could easily just knock her opponent back with the shield and continue. Might not be fair, though.  
“You know that thing isn’t sharp, right?”

Rax tilts her head amusedly and leans even closer, their faces almost touching.  
“It does not need to be for me to plant you face-first to the ground.”

“Pff, like you could ever do that.”

“Well…”, Rax says, before she makes the night elf feel something further down. A hard object strokes against the bottom of her legs. “Your soft sensitive feet are noticeably exposed. Would be a shame if I happened to trample them.”

Thariss narrows her eyes, the large ears slumping somewhat, not seeming so defiant anymore.  
“…you wouldn’t dare.”

“Then perhaps you should surrender.”

Sitting in the distance, just outside the fence, Riv watches them. Seeing her two friends like this is undeniably rather exciting for her. They are two very physically fit and capable women, with their sweaty bodies in such intimate positions…  
It’s hard to ignore how appealing that thought is. Thariss may have all her love, there is no question about that, but she won’t pretend like she doesn’t find Rax attractive too. Even more so when the paladin happens to show her prowess.

Eventually, Thariss rolls her eyes and sighs.  
“Alright, alright. Fine.”

“Fine what?”, Rax asks expectantly.

“I give up.”

“No. That is not what you are supposed to say.”

Thariss arches her brow skeptically.  
“What do you want me to say then?”

“Come now, do not be foolish. ‘Yield’. That is what it should be. You yield.”

Thariss slowly shakes her head.  
“You’re really stupid, you know that, right?”

“Say it, Thariss. Or I will have to punish you. The fight will not be over until you do, and I have the advantage.”

Even if she probably doesn’t want to be in this position, for whatever reason, Thariss starts to look somewhat mischievous anyhow.  
“Alright, if you insist. I y…earn to have a rematch, so that I can make you say stupid crap too.”

Rax furrows her brow as she stares right into Thariss’ eyes, but her smirk lingers. Instead of using her staff to punish the ‘insolent’ kaldorei, she drops her hands down to the sides and before Thariss can properly defend herself, Rax begins to tickle her. A whole barrage of it as well.  
It seems she knows exactly what areas to target, as the warrior erupts in laughter almost immediately, squirming and hoping to get out of this treatment, but it’s no use. She drops her shield while this happens and eventually, she uses whatever strength she has left to push the draenei away.

“It seems there are still a few techniques I might need to teach you, dear Dusksong.”

“You’re an asshole, Rax!”, Thariss says, between what remains of the laughter. Her stomach sort of hurts now, but not from any injuries.

The paladin wiggles her eyebrows.  
“Maybe, but a crafty one.”

Outside the fence, both of them suddenly hear a similar, albeit softer sound. It’s Riv, who giggles and shakes her head.  
“You know what I think? You’re both stupid.”

Thariss glances in that direction, and while Rax gathers the items up, to put them back on their racks, the warrior moves towards her girlfriend. Along the way, Thariss swirls her head around to loosen up her moist white hair, which happens to be a rather pleasing sight for Riv. This is accompanied by the appearance of her strong and sweaty pale blue body glistening beneath the light of the moon.  
Thariss obviously notices the staring and she smirks, likely having had this as part of her plan.

“Enjoying the show, babe?”

“Always. Though, I am a bit disappointed that you lost. Again.”

“Tsk. Are you going to be a little shit to me now too?”

Riv tries to hide her rather satisfied smile, by diverting her face, and shrugs.  
“I’m just saying that you probably need to improve on certain aspects of your abilities.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you. I mean, you’re useless with a blade!”

“Are you sure? Who knows? Maybe even I could beat you now.”

Thariss snorts and once she’s close enough, she leans down to wrap her arms around the sin’dorei’s waist and lifts her off the seat. This makes Riv gasp in mild surprise at how easily it’s done, like she weighs practically nothing, but it is interrupted shortly after by giggles instead, as Thariss wrestles her to the grass.  
She is not done there either, as she imitates Rax’s last action, by tickling Riv all over. When Riv tries to struggle, Thariss grabs her wrists and holds both down to the ground above her head, using only one hand.

“Hey, not fair!”, Riv exclaims in between the laughter. “You’re stronger than me!”

That makes the kaldorei look thoroughly pleased.  
“What was that? Thought you said you could handle me.”

“Not in a wrestling match!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t boast so much then, shorty.”

Thariss obviously appears to enjoy this moment, to make her beloved have a bit of fun, but the sensation is soon replaced by a need for intimacy. She leans down and once the tickling stops, she runs her mouth over Riv’s neck, occasionally using her teeth and fangs to nibble playfully. The tone of the sin’dorei’s sounds alter from joyful into somewhat sensual instead, the laughing replaced with gasps.

“…that changed quickly”, Riv whispers.

“Well, maybe you’re useful for more things than physical combat. There are other ways we could ‘exercise’ together”, she says quietly, with an added wink at the end.

“Naughty.”

Not that Riv tries to oppose this in any way. As soon as Thariss has let go of the wrists and positions herself on top of her girlfriend, the hunter’s arms wrap around the back of Thariss’ neck, trying to use her legs to encircle the sturdy waist too. Unless they stop it soon, things might get rather steamy.  
Fortunately, they do not get far enough into their fun, before the kaldorei senses heavy footsteps on the ground. She almost assumes it’s Rax for a moment, until a large snout comes close to her head and sniffs her.

Thariss blinks and turns her head to see what’s going on. It doesn’t take long until she chuckles at the sight of the big red-scaled creature. It’s Razz and he seems rather skeptical.  
“Oh, hey there, big guy. We were just messing around.”

Riv snickers, before she reaches up with one of her hands.  
“It’s fine, Razz. I’m okay, darling.”

The raptor lies down on the ground next to them and affectionately nuzzles against her face. She closes her eyes, caressing the scales around his large head, obviously enjoying his company too.  
In the meantime, Thariss smirks at them and rolls her eyes.  
“Your eternal protector, huh?”

“And an adorable one at that.”  
The raptor emits a satisfied noise in response.

While they have their little enjoyable and sweet moment, it seems this won’t extend any further either. The door to the house opens up, and they spot how Thariss’ mother, Javynna, walks out to look around. When she notices where they are, she gestures with her hand.  
“Thariss? Could you and the others come inside? We have something to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So yeah, next week there'll be a chapter with Ashindra._


	2. Stranger at home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So, Ashindra. Let's start her part of this story, I suppose._   
>  _If it's not obvious already, I believe that this section - especially this chapter - might be somewhat difficult to understand if you haven't read "The Promised Land" or "Felstruck eclipse". This first part contains some flashbacks from those stories._

_“But it seems you have fallen far lower than I could ever have estimated. Was becoming a monster always part of your plan?”_

_“I’m not a demon! I am in charge of my own mind and I have free will. I’m not some slave to the Legion.”_

The beautifully paved streets of Silvermoon City. The sky is blue and only somewhat covered with white clouds. There are sounds from local birds in the air, spreading their song happily to the people inside, accompanied by a most pleasant breeze. The large yellow-leafed trees rustle gently at her approach, as if greeting her return. All around her, she can see gold, scarlet, white and green, familiar colors from her past. And yet, why does she feel like she doesn’t belong?

In the center of a group of sin’dorei soldiers walks a particular individual, with fair skin. Long red hair flows freely behind her, quite far past her shoulders, and her bright green eyes study her surroundings with uncertainty. Her toned body is protected within something heavy and sturdy – grey-colored plate armor, with golden lines and blue cloth. The most impressive section is probably the golden shoulderpads, glowing with magic and life. A large black spiked shield is strapped to her back and a sharp longsword hangs at her belt.  
Along with many others, she receives greetings and cheers from the people around her, but she ignores them, as her mind is far away from the present.

After months of absence, journeying into the depths of the broken world of Outland, seeing so many different lands that she never thought she’d get to experience, Ashindra Revenor is finally back home where she belongs.  
To see mainland Quel’thalas, and Silvermoon especially, after all this time is…strange, in some ways. She can’t deny that there are some good feelings involved, much thanks to the renewal of the Sunwell, but also discomfort.

Something is wrong. She can’t quite explain how or why, can’t even pinpoint what it is, and yet it’s definitely there in the back of her mind. She could blame this sensation on the fact that the Sunwell is not the same anymore, or that she had to fight demons not just on Outland, but very close to her capital and home.  
None of that would be true, though, and while she’s usually fine with lying to others, doing so to herself would just be ridiculous. She knows better.

_“Ash, please…don’t do this. I don’t want to fight you, but I can’t turn myself in."_

_“Then you leave me no choice.”_

When was the last time she came to the city? The last time she had to walk through the gates instead of simply roaming the streets? What was the final thing she did before she left the capital with the rest of the soldiers and so many others? It’s hard to remember anymore, to acknowledge a time before everything changed and her heart was dashed against a new truth.  
She remembers having joined a bunch of other sin’dorei troops as they departed for the enemy’s strongholds, hearts filled with fury and righteousness. She was ready to fight not just for her people, but to show the Horde what they were made of. Where did all that go?

_“I’m not a monster! I’m still your sister, Ash! I always will be, and you have to listen to me when I say that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you!”_

The first obstacle of her journey appeared when she tried to pursue the goal for the trip – her hunt for her own twin sister, Vestarial.  
Ash won’t dismiss the fact that it was hard to track her younger sibling, to know where she must go. That skill was never her foremost one anyhow, as she always relied on Rivaryn to perform such things. On top of that, demon hunters also proved to be quite…elusive.

Eventually, she did catch up to Vesta’s position, but her sister slipped right out of her grasp. Ash was and still is torn about the conclusion for this encounter.  
One major part of her was disappointed, angry that her deathblow was not enough. She was so close to finally be free of that accursed presence, the shame to her family’s name and she blew it all. She would be lying if she said that she hadn’t considered chasing after Vesta and her companions, but it would’ve been futile, as they were way too fast.

However, can she really ignore the other notion? There was this very small piece within her heart, a voice that hoped to get louder, but didn’t have enough power behind it. This aspect was…relieved that she had failed.  
Back then, and for months after the incident, she refused to acknowledge this thought. How could she? That would mean to give up, to surrender the entire chase and accept her sister as an abomination. No, that couldn’t happen, not at the time. But now…

_“There is only one way I can deal with her and I shall. If she must die in there with all those other demons, then it shall by **MY** hand.”_

As the hunt for the twisted hunter continued, she ran into the second and most gruesome obstacle. Who can forget the encounter at the foot of the Black Temple? Even if she had seen the name on the mercenary rosters, she could scarcely have believed it.  
Rivaryn Silvershroud. One of the loveliest, kindest, smartest, and most loyal women she has ever known; a soul that she used to love with all her heart. That she would see Riv again, but free of the pain and misery which the former ranger had descended into, was surprising, but not disappointing…at first.

Even now, after having encountered the hunter at two separate occasions, she still doesn’t know what to make of it. How should she interpret her own feelings about this whole matter? The initial meeting was tense, but not enough to rattle her. The longer time spent in the same location, though, the worse her reluctance grew to be within the vicinity of her lost beloved. Should she regret all the things she said?  
When more revelations arrived, Ash began to recognize the cracks in her heart.

 _"You abandoned Quel’thalas and our people in our most dire of times. You abandoned **me**._  
_If you want to pretend that everything is better now, you can be delusional on your own. I do much better without you.”_

Should she be jealous of Riv for having found someone new to mend her broken soul, for having endured her own mental agony?  
Should she be jealous of Thariss for gaining the love of the woman who Ash cherished for so many decades, the one person that she has ever felt truly connected to? If she should be honest, she feels as if both of these conclusions are justified and yet she doesn’t wish to admit either publicly.

Riv clearly seemed like she knew what she was doing, that having torn her spirit from the shackles of duty was a relief. Should Ash envy that freedom?  
Her old girlfriend managed to change herself without tearing apart what she once was, preserving the core of her own presence. Should Ash be enraged for having failed to do the same thing and inadvertently caused the death of her old self?

_“My point is that this doesn’t have to be your whole purpose, Ash. There are other paths in life, other ways to grow."_

_"What happened to the Ash I once knew?! Where is the priestess who believed that the Light is everywhere, and everyone deserves a second chance?!”_

_“She died in the Scourge, Riv. Just like everything else!”_

No, there’s obviously more to it than that. Riv confronted Ash in a way that she hadn’t expected, sent shockwaves through her that completely shattered certain illusions.  
Before she met Riv again, Ash was sure of herself, that she knew exactly what she must do to become whole once more. The only way to reach those lost emotions was not to continue trying, but to tear off a part of herself. There was seemingly no other solution.

Her first attempt, out in the wilderness of Zangarmarsh, obviously failed. Despite whatever sensations that clash might have given her, she wasn’t entirely surprised either, and she was ready to continue. She simply had to persist and strengthen her resolve in whatever way possible. It would achieve success eventually. That is why she was at the temple, why she had to break inside those damn gates.  
But then Riv came with an earth-shattering realization, bringing the ferocity of truth, one she really didn’t want to accept. Despite how some small parts of her preferred to embrace the hunter again, she believed it was impossible for Riv to even budge her. It just wouldn’t happen.

_"I killed my parents, Ash. Do you understand me now? **I. Fucking. Killed them.** ”_

_“If there is one thing I regret in this life, it’s that I didn’t give them a second chance. To let them redeem themselves.”_

After the conversation was done and her mind had broken into too many pieces, she saw no other alternative – she had to leave. Immediately, she asked for a transfer to another area, another front. She didn’t even care where it was, as long as she didn’t have to fight opponents that were so…harrowing, that began to haunt her dreams. All her resolve had dispersed in a night and she couldn’t stay. She needed to think, to ponder who she was, what she wanted and where she had to go.

Eventually, she was called back to Quel’thalas, thankfully. Sure, it was shocking to hear that the Sunwell was apparently being restored and even more alarming that demons were assaulting it with a new invasion, but at least it would give her a chance to protect the cleansing source that her people thought they had lost.  
Ash felt such joy at the possibility of not having to be distracted by hesitation anymore, that she didn’t linger for even a moment when they told her to go. She was very relieved that the fight succeeded without too much issue, but it has also changed everything in the process of renewal.

Once the Sunwell’s power spread out across Quel’thalas again and she was allowed to drink from its light, it began. For some reason, she…doesn’t feel like herself anymore. Or rather, a section of her old self had rematerialized in her mind and was forced to experience what she had become, which made her realize just how much of her being she had destroyed. What has she sacrificed in order to be the protector that her people needs?

As she wanders upon the streets of Silvermoon now, she feels distant, as if she’s not really there, only watching pictures. She looks at the cheering people, the soldiers, the waving Silvermoon banners and senses nothing. She even gazes down at herself and the gear she wears, surveying the weapons and the tabard of the Blood Knights that she chose to put on specifically for this occasion when it was asked of her. All of it somehow feels…foreign.

This is not the Ashindra she knew in the past.  
This is not the Ashindra who embraced the Light and joined the Church.  
This is not the Ashindra who Rivaryn loved so dearly for so many decades, and almost married her.  
This is not the Ashindra who constantly bickered with her little sister and yet always made sure to tell Vesta that she cherished their connection.  
This is not the Ashindra who healed the wounds that bled from Quel’thalas and the quel’dorei people.

Who is Ashindra Revenor? Can she ever be mended, be returned to the living realm of this world or has she been lost in the depths of the Twisting Nether, to never be seen again?  
As her gaze turns to the holdings of her Order in the distance, she has to swallow. Her chest feels unnervingly hollow at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _My plan wasn't originally to have Ash as one of the main characters here, so it's pretty fun to give her the opportunity for some introspection._


	3. Wait for dusk

The Dusksong house in Auberdine. It’s a location they’ve been staying at for a little while now, the same home that Thariss once grew up in and where she will always have a place to live. It will likely remain this way for the foreseeable future, unless something disastrous occurs.  
It’s not the first time this group has been here, and it probably won’t be the last. Rivaryn always feels surprisingly relieved during every visit. The whole building gives her a very cozy feeling, as if it instinctively invites her and she gains the impression that she belongs here.

In some ways, she could compare it to the old Silvershroud house, but that wouldn’t be particularly fair. Her family’s home could never match how this house has been created, because her parents were all about being orderly and practical. They did have decorations, sure, but it always felt fairly rigid or even sterile to her.  
The Dusksongs seem to fit in better with the general artistic design of their city and have taken their surroundings into account. Or maybe she’s just being biased. She won’t deny that some of these opinions may have been affected by how often she argued with her parents.

This is why Riv can understand why Thariss is so attached to this place, why she has so many good childhood memories left, despite a certain tension between her and Veldarya, her other mother. It must have been a very fun experience, especially when she’s also got such a healthy relationship with her siblings.  
Once Riv, Thariss and Raxeen enters the living room, the enjoyable sensations increase even further, as they smell something tasty in the air.

“Mmm”, Thariss emits, obviously pleased. “Damn, I’m hungry now. What are we having, mom?”

Javynna doesn’t smile or even look at her daughter at this time. For some reason, she seems kinda distracted, but answers regardless.  
“Rainbow albacore stew with some moonglitter potatoes”, she says, her voice somewhat distant.

This hesitant notion makes all three look at her, observe her with interest.  
Riv doesn’t exactly mention it very often, due to how embarrassing it would be, but Javynna is a very beautiful woman. Pale blue skin like her younger daughter, long teal hair held up in braids on her back, green thin markings over her eyes and a slim soft build. She does give off an aura of wisdom and kindness, but Riv still finds it kinda weird to consider that her age ranges over ten millennia. That just seems…excessive, and yet it’s the truth.  
More than anything, the hunter has to admit that she always feels safe with Javy, like she can trust the priestess completely. Sometimes, Riv just wants to hug her, let Javy embrace and care for her. She emanates the sensation of a mother like no other person Riv has ever met. It does make her feel kinda stupid at times. Unfortunately, right now, the older kaldorei mostly seems concerned instead and that affects the younger women too.

“Sounds good”, Thariss admits.

“Sadly, that will have to wait.”

Thariss glances around the room, and her ears twitch slightly, listening for any other sound in the house, but hears nothing.  
“Where’s Shae?”

It is not strange for Thariss to ask about Shaerai, her older sister, even if she has her own house. She sometimes joins them for dinner, together with her husband, when her work has been overly cumbersome. Javy’s food has always been a source of comfort for the Dusksongs.  
“I’m sorry, honey, she’s not in Auberdine right now. She had to check on her dispatched soldiers.”

Thariss refocuses her gaze on her mother, raising an eyebrow in doubt.  
“Dispatched? To where?”

“Along the northern and northwestern coast.”

The warrior folds her strong arms and glances at her companions. They merely shrug in return.  
“Uh, why?”

Javy exhales briefly and gestures at the comfortable sofas and armchairs nearby.  
“If you will sit down and listen, I will tell you everything, sweetie.”

Her words are fairly solemn and troubled. That makes the entire trio quite worried and they therefore decide to do as she says without complaint. Javy being serious is not a completely unusual occurrence, but she tends to still show a bit of optimism during those moments. If she is actually concerned to this degree, that is a time when one must listen.  
Riv chooses to sit down close to her girlfriend, leaning against Thariss’ side and entwines the fingers of their closest hands. Rax is seated on the other side of the kaldorei, her legs folded and hands in her lap.

“Go ahead, miss Dusksong”, the draenei tells her.

Javy gets seated in an armchair and takes a moment to think, possibly pondering what information is on her mind.  
“I recently received a missive directly from High Priestess Whisperwind, in Darnassus.”

Thariss widens her eyes.  
“Lady Tyrande?”

“Indeed.”

Riv tilts her head curiously.  
“Hmm. Isn’t she your leader or something like that?”

“She could be defined that way, yes. She speaks for Elune.  
As my oldest daughter is the Battlemaster of the Darkshore Sentinels and I am the senior priestess in this region, she had to inform both of us of recent developments.  
Apparently, there has been some chaos erupting inside of Stormwind. There was an attack.”

That obviously alarms them immediately and they widen their eyes.  
“Attack?”, Riv asks. “Was it…the Horde?”

Javy shakes her head quickly.  
“No, thankfully not. However, the news is still not particularly encouraging. The attack was conducted by forces of undead.”

If they had been shocked before, that is nothing compared to how Riv feels while hearing those words. Instinctively, she clenches Thariss hand and her ears shiver somewhat.  
“Wait…are you speaking of the Scourge?”

The priestess views her daughter’s girlfriend and nods gravely.  
“That seems to be the name they use for themselves, yes.  
The undead legions swept in through waves over the city, weeks ago, but we never got word of it at the time.”

While tension increases through Riv’s body, Rax folds her arms and furrows her brow in thought.  
“How is that possible? Stormwind has a lot of mages, does it not? An entire district in the city is dedicated to magical studies, if my memory serves me correctly.”

“I believe so, but they have had some problems. Apparently, there are currently some disruptions in the magical leyline network all over Azeroth, which have yet to be explained. This has prevented quick magical communication and teleportation has not been reliable. Stormwind could do nothing to tell the world for quite some time, as the Scourge attempted to kill every messenger bird they sent out.  
Eventually, one did manage to escape, however, and it was this one that carried news to us of what has happened, and the dangers involved.”

Due to what she’s feeling, Thariss obviously turns her head to view her girlfriend. She is not surprised to witness the unnerving reaction, how Riv does not look happy at all. The Scourge invasion is still one of the most traumatic experiences of the hunter’s past, one that occasionally comes back to haunt her.  
Being away from undead and Quel’thalas for quite some time has obviously helped her cope with these horrors, and the return of the Sunwell has been another positive element. The idea of facing such creatures again must be horrible, though, even if it was inevitable. The Scourge was never going to wait around forever.

“Did Stormwind have any orders or did they send out a call for help?”, Thariss asks.

Her mother shrugs in return.  
“I don’t know. All that lady Tyrande told us in the letters was that we should remain vigilant for now. If there are further developments, I’m sure she will let us know.”

Rax still seems both perplexed and bothered by a specific element of what they’re being told, which is why she runs a hand over her chin in thought.  
“This is certainly quite unsettling, but I am most troubled by the idea that your leylines are somehow disrupted. I am not a mage myself, so my knowledge is definitely limited, but is that even possible? Can the arcane across a world really be damaged to such an extent? Who or what is capable of doing so?”

If she had hoped to gain a helpful response from Javy, she is disappointed, as the priestess merely shakes her head.  
“I am sorry, Raxeen, I can’t really give you much. If I should be honest, I know about as little of the arcane as you do. I haven’t read or thought much of such things since my days in Suramar.”

“Well, you are a priestess, so perhaps that is not surprising, but why have the rest of your people not noticed?”

“Not a strange prospect either. We kaldorei are fairly uncomfortable with magic of that sort, after the disaster with the Well of Eternity, and therefore try to interact with it as little as possible in our lands.”

Rax nods slowly, not really being one to judge.  
“Fair enough. But have there not been portals established in your capital city?”

“Yes, of course, but Teldrassil is several miles away from Auberdine. We can see it, but not feel the magic from this distance.  
However, I am certain that our gnomish, human and quel’dorei mage allies will attempt to investigate this mystery somehow. From what I understand, this is more their field of expertise.”

Hoping to drag herself out of the fear, Riv attempts to enter the conversation again.  
“I wonder if my sister might not try to do the same. Kassari is a member of the Silvermoon Magisters, our mage Order. But, well, it’s not like I’ll be able to send a letter that will reach her any time soon…”

Shifting the location of her arm, Thariss wraps it around Riv’s shoulders instead.  
“Hey, no need to be worried, babe. I’m sure Kass will be okay. She’s smart and resourceful - she’ll know what to do.”

Riv sighs, shuts her eyes and leans her head against Thariss’ chest.  
“I hope that’s true. After having been absent from my sister for a few years, I never thought I’d get her back. Now that I do, I’d prefer not to lose her.”

Thariss tilts herself closer and kisses the top of Riv’s head.  
“You won’t, I promise. Besides, she’s got Khroga with her too, right? She’ll watch over Kass, I’m sure.”

Despite the grim news that they received, Javy still manages to smile slightly as she watches her daughter and Riv cling to each other. The priestess herself has been very supportive of the relationship, wanting them both to be happy. It’s also why she’s always ready to let them stay here.  
However, at this time, it seems like they could use something to distract them.  
“Oh, there was also another part of the letter that I didn’t really know what to make of. Something about a ‘return of Dalaran’. I’m not sure what that means.”

This makes Riv mildly interested, which Javy assumed would be the result.  
“Wait, really? Uh, Dalaran was a mixed city-state of human, quel’dorei and gnomish origin, ruled by mages.  
Didn’t see it myself, but the city was apparently destroyed during the invasion by the Burning Legion and the Scourge, in the middle of their march to the north. It was seen as a threat too, which is reasonable, I guess.”  
She lifts a hand to scratch her cheek.  
“Hmm. If it has come back, that could be an interesting ally to have against the Scourge, since they’ll surely want to fight the undead.”

“True enough. However, the letter also mentions something about the mages being able to levitate the entire city. I’m…uncertain how that’s possible, but they said they would try to send it straight to Northrend.”

Hearing this, Rax chuckles amusedly.  
“Azeroth seems to have everything – gigantic trees, wells full of power, a crashed Exodar, and now a floating city. I can see why living here is so exciting.”

It does indeed sound kinda funny, but Thariss is more interested in something else.  
“Hey, what about Shae and the Sentinels? If they’re patrolling the coast, does that mean they’re expecting an attack?”

Javy places her hands over her lap, gently trying to correct her robes.  
“I don’t know, dear. Shaerai was worried about potential assaults, yes, but she didn’t mention if she had any information that would indicate anything. It was why she dispatched troops, though, and why she’s inspecting them now.”

Thariss glances between her two friends.  
“Well, maybe we should join them at some point, just to make sure they’re alright.”

Thankfully, she does get a nod from Riv.  
“Yeah, I agree. If anything, maybe that’ll help me feel a little less anxious.”


	4. Losing heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm not sure how clear it is, but these two storylines don't operate on exactly the same timeline._   
>  _Oh, and there's a canon character in this chapter. She briefly appeared in "The Promised Land" too, but here I'm trying to explain her connection to Ashindra a bit better._

Calm quickly returned to Silvermoon after the celebrations were over, and many people were relieved to once more proceed with their lives in peace. There’s still much that needs to be done in order to restore Quel’thalas to its former glory, but at least now they might be given that chance. With the renewal of the Sunwell, a lot of elves feel as if nothing is impossible anymore, like the sin’dorei have truly reached a fresh start and the ability to mold a new identity.

One who has not been able to absorb such ideas for the time being is Ashindra. She wants to join her people in their hopes for the future, to consider what she can do to help out, but there are other concerns on her mind that keeps swallowing practically every waking moment. She needs to deal with them now, or she will never be free. She can’t be fully certain exactly what it is she wants, but she’s not going to discover it by staying silent.

This is why she headed towards the Blood Knight building in the city and searches for a particular individual. Several people greet her as she passes by, which she only briefly waves at, but offers no words. She’s too distant, focused on the task at hand.  
Once Ash reaches one of the meeting halls in the facility, she spots the correct woman – Lady Liadrin, the Matriarch of their entire Order. The older woman is not wearing her armor today, but instead stands in a red and silver suit of some sort, with the Blood Knight tabard still adorning her chest. There are few days where she doesn’t have it on her, as she constantly wants to set an example for her people. She is not alone either, but surrounded by a half dozen officers.

It’s pretty clear that the Blood Knights are required as guards and soldiers during this time of recovery, even if many of them probably would want to rest, which is why Liadrin has a lot of administration to deal with. Ash understands and figures it’s best not to disturb her. She attempts to leave after watching the group from afar for a few seconds, wondering if she should try again later. If she thought that would be the end of it, though, she’s sorely mistaken.

“Did you need something, Revenor?”

Ash had faced away from the door and was about to walk in another direction, but now blinks and turns back towards the room. She hesitates as every pair of eyes are aimed at her and clears her throat.  
“I…uh, yes. I wanted to talk to you, but...it can wait if you’re-“

“Nonsense”, Liadrin interrupts her. “We were just finishing up anyway.”  
She turns her attention briefly to the other elves in the room.  
“You know your assignments and tasks - get to it. Send me your reports when you’re done inspecting every section of your posts. Dismissed.”

She should’ve anticipated this result. Liadrin always makes time for her, unless what the leader is doing is absolutely critical. Obviously, that doesn’t make Ash feel any better, especially when some of those who leave the room side eye her. Guilt washes over her, as the reason she’s about to enter is probably not going to make her leader particularly happy. This won’t stop her, but it makes the situation worse.

Some may be confused why Liadrin would create time for someone like Ash, though, as she’s not from an important family, nor is she one of the top leaders of the organization, despite still being a mid-tier officer. She was one of the first Blood Knights, after all.  
Liadrin was the one who first taught Ash about being a paladin, and they have known each other to some extent since their joint time in the church of the Light. When Ash sought a new path after the Scourge invasion, Liadrin invited her and they began a sort of master-student relationship. In some ways, Ash could be seen as the protégé. This only increases the difficulty, though.

Ash closes the door behind her when she enters the room and then approaches the table in the center. She considers going straight for the topic at hand, but hesitates as she views Liadrin’s smiling face.  
“How have you been doing since we returned?”

Liadrin takes a deep breath and while she had been standing, she now moves to grab a chair and sit down. She’s more comfortable now than in the previous company.  
“Well, it hasn’t really been all too long yet, so it’s hard to claim that things have returned to normal. Whatever that means nowadays, anyway.”  
She corrects some of her hair and folds her arms.  
“Having the Sunwell back and with the success of our various missions on Outland, at least morale has risen quite substantially.”

Duty, loyalty and honor – not concepts Liadrin simply exemplifies, but embraces completely, sometimes to the extent where it gets worrying. In the past, Ash has tried to live up to it, but now she understands how dangerous it can get.  
“And what about yourself, my lady? Are _you_ doing alright?”

Liadrin blinks confusedly at first, before she offers another smile. Of course, Ash would care.  
“Well, I believe certain rumors that claim I am overworked are exaggerated, but…not entirely incorrect, I suppose. I think some rest would probably do us all good.  
And you, Revenor? Not feeling out of shape, I hope?”

It’s asked so casually, without comprehending how hard it actually hits Ash. She had hoped not to be confronted with this issue right away and Ash senses doubt slipping into her heart. She has to talk about it now, there’s no escape.  
How the hell is she supposed to discuss this issue, though? There’s not just hesitation and confusion on her mind, but actual palpable fear. What if Liadrin gets pissed off, yells at Ash for failing not just their Order, but her specifically? She isn’t really the type to do such things, but she can certainly be fierce.

“I…have been thinking a lot”, the younger paladin finally admits, diverting her eyes to the table.

“About what?”

“Erm, the Blood Knights and my position among them. And, you know, perhaps what I should be doing with it.”

These words are alarming to Liadrin and she knows it, but it’s not like she can lie, not right now. Her leader wants the truth and it has to be exposed.  
The Matriarch is silent for several moments, until she untangles her arms, leans forward and rests them on the table.  
“I think you will have to elaborate. Are you saying that you wish to leave us, Revenor?”

Ash furrows her brow and lifts one of her arm to scratch the other.  
“I…I don’t know.” She interrupts herself by sighing. “It’s difficult for me to explain this properly. It’s really weird not to truly understand your own emotions.”

Liadrin’s eyes move searchingly as she scans Ash’s face, even if the younger Knight is not watching her yet.  
“Does this have anything to do with the confrontation at the Black Temple? I heard of the outburst from that Farstrider.  
Or…is this about your encounter with Vestarial in the swamps?”

“Well, that’s-…no, I don’t it would be fair to-“  
She stops herself again and this time bites her lower lip. Can she really lie with enough conviction? She feels her own heart being squeezed with uncertainty.  
“…actually, yes. I keep thinking about when I met Vesta, running the event over and over in my head. I wonder if I should’ve done some things differently.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem particularly bothered afterwards, though.”

“I know, probably because I wasn’t being entirely truthful with you at the time.”

“What do you mean?”

Ash briefly glances towards Liadrin, noticing how her leader has both doubt and curiosity in her eyes. Will she still accept Ash after what she’s about to hear? Either way, Ash turns her gaze away once more.  
“I…may have misjudged my sister somewhat and the idea of what I was trying to do. It kept weighing on me during the journey, but I was oblivious of the ramifications for quite some time.”

“Hold on. What are you saying? I asked you to capture her.”

Ash swallows once.  
“I know, but I…I wasn’t being truthful about that either, my lady. Despite your orders, my goal all along was to…to kill her.”

She practically mutters the last part, but thankfully, sin’dorei hearing is quite sharp. Liadrin’s ears twitches and her eyes widen in surprise.  
“What? But…she’s your sister, Ashindra. Your twin sister, if I’m not mistaken.”

Ash sighs, shuts her eyes and shakes her head. Her shoulders have slumped by now and even if the words aimed at her are not particularly accusatory, she still feels guiltier than before.  
“I know, and for some reason, that affected me even further.  
At the time, I felt that Vesta’s transformation was somehow the problem. It was like a constant pain in my throat that I couldn’t get rid of. I became…blinded by this cause and therefore went full out when we confronted each other. I never just stopped and considered my actions.  
The outcome continues to haunt me and some nights, I can’t even sleep properly.”

She feels both relief and regret to reveal all of this now. She has wanted to say something, but not dared to. Now, there’s no need to hold back.  
Liadrin raises her hand to stroke her chin in thought.  
“I did know that something was wrong at the Temple, when you asked for a transfer, but you told me that you had been exposed to too much demonic energy.”

“Indeed, another lie.” She has done a lot of that lately. Perhaps too much. “After my argument with Rivaryn, I realized the true meaning of what I was attempting to accomplish, and the horrifying effects it would have. I was so afraid of breaking myself, I had to get away.”  
She lifts her gaze, glancing around the room. She views the golden lights, the banners, the shields hanging upon the walls.  
“After all that happened in Outland and on Quel’Danas, standing in these halls now feels…strange. I can’t quite explain it in any way that makes sense, other than to say that I don’t know if what I’m currently involved in is right for me anymore. I don’t know if I actually belong here.”  
She redirects her attention to Liadrin, trying her best to face those golden eyes.  
“I have not felt like this since…well, the aftermath of the invasion.”

Liadrin’s eyes almost immediately drift down somewhat, making her look uncertain and perhaps a bit disappointed.  
“I remember. I recall how you spoke to me with pretty much exactly those words. It is why I decided to train you as a Blood Knight to begin with.”  
She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair, looking somewhat tired.  
“If you are having another crisis of faith or possibly questioning your own existence, that could obviously be bad, potentially disastrous. But, if I should be honest, you are not the first one who had to deal with such side effects.”

“I’m not?”, Ash asks, with a bit of surprise in her voice.

“No. There are people both after the invasion and now with the return of the Sunwell, who have reported difficult psychological effects. Nightmares, flashbacks, indescribable headaches and pain, whether physical or mental. What our people have suffered for the last several years has been traumatizing and I think that is finally catching up to some of us.  
I won’t blame what you are enduring now specifically on the Sunwell, but perhaps it is part of the issue, at least? It can’t be easy to deal with…what you have done.”

Her words are not an accusation, but spoken with sympathy. Ash is not the only one who has made mistakes.  
“It’s not, no.”

“I don’t aim to punish, though, as Vestarial was still technically a criminal, one that we wanted to capture. Your methods were severe, but I can’t be your judge. I leave that to the Light.”

Ash bows her head politely.  
“Thank you, my lady. I am not sure if this is fair to my sister, but I’m grateful. In my opinion, though, no one should attempt what I did.”

“Well, that is not up to me to decide. I believe this type of dilemma is something you will have to work through and perhaps come to terms with eventually. I’m not sure if you will get the chance to speak with Vestarial any time soon, though.  
In the meantime, I suggest speaking with a counselor. If you wish, I could set up a meeting with one. I assigned a few to our troops, as there were some who have had to deal with trauma that they could not handle on their own.”

It is a graceful suggestion, one that Ash should probably accept, but her reluctance takes charge of her for now.  
“Thank you for the offer, but right now, I just wish to be alone. I want to consider what I’ve done and see if I can do something on my own. I’m not sure I will be able to perform my duties during that time, however.”

Once more, Liadrin seems saddened by this conclusion.  
“I understand. It is disappointing, as you are one of my best, but I won’t refuse this request. However, if you wish to hear my opinion, I think departure is a bit drastic.  
Instead of quitting the organization entirely, I would be willing to grant you a leave of absence. It would have to be indefinite, of course, until you feel you’re ready to return.”

Ash seems surprised once more and hesitates. Is this truly acceptable, the right thing for the rest of the Order? She doesn’t wish to become a liability.  
“Are you…sure that’s wise, my lady? Not everyone may agree, and I’d prefer not to weigh down the entire Order with my problems…”

Liadrin snorts.  
“Nonsense. I don’t care what the others think. I know you too well by now, Revenor, and I will not discard you just like that. Take some time off and relax. I’m sure we will manage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I figured that the sin'dorei people might have counselors or therapist-esque roles of some sort, especially due to the horrifying stuff they experienced during the Scourge invasion._
> 
> _Ash won't be gone for an indefinite amount of time, but her path to Northrend will obviously not be with the Blood Knights._


	5. Lessons of misjudgment

Within kaldorei lands, due to everything concerning time seeming to work in the opposite way, troop movement and tactical maneuvers are done at night as well. It takes a while to adapt and without eyesight created for the dark it can still be difficult, but not impossible.  
For the last week or so, Rivaryn, Thariss and Raxeen have done their best to maintain a strict schedule, in order to be of use for the denizens of Darkshore. They have been travelling between Auberdine, Sentinel outposts and nearby towns.

The reasons for why shouldn’t be anything that people need to question, as the group obviously wants to help. They wish to secure this region before any dangers from the north arrive, if such things can even be expected.  
It’s not like this shore is a strategically vital position on its own, but could be a good location for invaders to establish bases upon, before advancing further into the land. Then again, when has the Scourge cared about the difference? Riv knows how little this matters firsthand.

At this time, the trio is in a camp together on the outskirts of a Sentinel outpost around the northern regions. It’s late evening and the last vestiges of the sun is descending on the horizon. While this would mean the end of the day for many people elsewhere, for the kaldorei it signifies that it’s time to get up. Many of their animals and plants operate on a similar timetable, as the night appears to have affected the majority of species here in a similar fashion.

As Thariss wakes up by the blankets she was resting on, she slowly blinks her eyes to get rid of the blurriness within them and turns her body to stretch her arms and legs. She’s never quick to awaken and usually requires something to drink in order to fully remove the last remnants of any weariness. However, during this process, she also notes a particular aspect of her surroundings – Riv is not next to her anymore. This is not an entirely surprising fact, but she still gets worried. She prefers waking up next to her girlfriend and snuggle with her before they move anywhere. Riv usually sticks around for that purpose too.

After she grabs her pants and a shirt, Thariss rises to her feet and glances around the area, doing her best to block the sun’s blinding light with a hand. To the west, on a rock overlooking the coastline and the distant beaches, she can see her girlfriend sitting by herself. It appears she hasn’t put much clothes on at this time either, only a shirt and a pair of shoes. Not even her pants are equipped, displaying her long and nimble pink legs. A sight Thariss enjoys, but one that can’t be comfortable on that cold rock.

During the last few days, Riv has been acting as a bit of an advisor to the Sentinel officers in the region that they have encountered. As she has direct experience with facing the undead, the kaldorei have been eager to receive as much advice as she’s willing to give. That she’s a sin’dorei appears to be an advantage in this situation.  
That said, Riv has still seemed…unsure, to a certain extent. Thariss assumes it’s not just due to a potential fear of having to face such enemies once more, but probably because she already lost one home to the undead.

Once she has walked all the way to her girlfriend, Thariss comes up behind her and wraps arms around her in a protective manner, hugging her gently. Riv doesn’t appear to be startled and instead leans into the embrace. Thariss kisses her cheek before she says anything.  
“Aren’t you a little cold sitting like this?”

Riv nods and then tilts her head to rest it on the warrior’s chest.  
“Mm, I am. It helps me think, though, so it’s fine.”

It’s fine, is it? She very much doubts that’s the whole truth.  
Thariss snorts briefly.  
“Ah, okay. Does that mean you don’t want my warmth?”

After raising one of her long eyebrows, Riv glances over her shoulder. She places a hand on Thariss’ chin and pulls her down, angling her own head so that she can give the night elf a firm kiss. Their eyes both close during this event.  
“You know I do”, she says after their lips part.

With a smile, Thariss decides to get on top of the rock as well and lifts Riv up, placing the hunter in her lap and envelops her once more. Riv curls up in those big and strong arms, feeling safe in between them.  
Thariss rests her nose on top of Riv’s hair and watches the sunset.  
“So, mind telling me what you’re doing out here all alone? It’s early.”

“Technically, it’s late.”

“Not here. This isn’t Quel’thalas, beautiful.”

“Tsk.”  
Instead of the sun, the hunter’s eyes are drawn to the dark waters of the sea. The light on the horizon is still reflected against it, giving the impression of being on fire.  
“Nothing special. Mulling on the past, I guess.”

Yeah, Thariss was afraid she’d say that. She doesn’t want Riv to be haunted by such elements, but…it’s never over easy, is it?  
“Oh, right. You mean, like…uh, the invasion and stuff?”

She almost didn’t want to say that word, just in case it might trigger something within her girlfriend. Thankfully, Riv remains intact.  
“Not specifically, no.”

Thariss leans her head a bit to the side, trying to get a better view of the emerald eyes. It appears Riv’s gaze is somewhat far away right now.  
“You wanna share?”

It takes a few moments for Riv to acknowledge the request, during which time her ears twitches somewhat in thought.  
“I’ve been thinking about some stuff that my mentor used to tell me.”

“Mentor? You mean…Trienza, right?”

“Yeah, that was her name.  
She was often a stern, confident and blunt woman, but sometimes she was filled with all sorts of weird wisdom too.”

Thariss watches Riv curiously and the words resonate with her as well.  
“Heh. Sounds like my mother. Veldarya, I mean.”

Riv nods, obviously remembering the stories.  
“They were similar in some ways, I expect.  
Several decades ago, when I went into my first major battle against bands of Amani trolls, I was anxious, so Trienza gave me advice about combat. She said, ‘Rivaryn, every warrior and officer out there will tell you that the most important element for one to have in battle is duty, honor, justice or strength. That is all just posturing, though. While they may all be of some use, I’ve never found them particularly helpful as a guiding light. Instead, I would say there are two much more critical aspects – trust and introspection.  
War and conflict is rarely a solitary event and you will often have allies fighting at your side. You must learn to trust and believe in them, that their abilities and expertise can succeed just as much as your own. Without it, doubt will grow, and failure will follow.  
Introspection is important because you must always know your own limits, what you are able to overcome and where defeat is inevitable. It is the difference between staying to fight and fleeing to survive another day’.”

Thariss is silent during the explanation, finding it all rather interesting. Once it is done, she ponders this opinion, thinking that she actually likes it in some way.  
“Sounds like pretty wise words to me. I can think of several battles where this could’ve helped me.”

Riv displays a faint smile and inclines her head.  
“Yeah, I agree. They are words that I’ve lived by for a long time, among other things. I haven’t always adhered to them without failure, but I feel that they’re quite useful in my own philosophy.”

This is definitely an angle Thariss can see, after they’ve spent so much time fighting side by side. However, there’s another element that she can recall which somewhat makes her question the truth.  
“Didn’t Trienza fail to follow her own advice, though? She fell, didn’t she?”

Almost immediately afterwards, Thariss wonders if this was the right thing to ask, as Riv hesitates and some sorrow enters her eyes. The warrior is about to apologize, but Riv shakes her head.  
“She did fall, yes, but it was not because she failed with any tactics. She knew what fight she was getting into, but…”  
She exhales through her nose.  
“There’s a difference between picking the wrong fight and choosing to sacrifice for the greater good.”

Oh, damn. Now that makes Thariss feel even more awful.  
She strokes a hand over Riv’s hair, shuts her eyes and tilts her head towards the hunter’s ear.  
“…shit. I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

Without Thariss seeing it happen, she feels how one of Riv’s hands caresses her cheek.  
“It’s okay. You didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I just…”

“I know.”  
She lifts her hands to hold both of Thariss’ cheeks, guiding her into another kiss, albeit in a tender fashion. When the night elf looks at her again, Riv rests against the strong chest once more, peering towards the sea. Thariss senses how the hunter takes one of her hands, stroking her fingers at the back of it rather slowly.  
“Sometimes, I...miss her, for several reasons. There was just something comforting about being in her presence.  
I was never very confident in battle and if I look deeply into myself, this is still probably true. However, Trienza was somehow able to summon incredible feats out of me, some things that I never thought were possible.”

“She was that important?”

“Yeah. If she had survived the invasion, I sometimes wonder if I would’ve suffered as much as I did without her, to go out alone and forget the rest of the world for so long. Who knows? I might've stuck with the Farstriders because of her influence and found my way back to our people.  
That’s just the kind of power she had over me. It was overwhelming, but also inspiring and comforting.”

Thariss tries to recollect the past, wondering if she ever had anyone like that. She can’t think of any Sentinel leaders that she has ever respected more than Veldarya or Shaerai, and while they were certainly crucial in influencing her progress through the ranks, she doesn’t believe that they could’ve done much to alter her position or the end result of her exit from the army.  
Then again, she has never suffered the same type of defeat as Riv did with the Scourge. Not even the latest Legion invasion was that bad.

Eventually, she clears her throat, as she senses some reluctance.  
“…now you’re making me feel awkward.”

Riv blinks and sits up, turning her gaze towards Thariss, who looks practically guilty. It makes the blood elf smile and stroke a few fingers along her jawline.  
“Hey, don’t be like that. I’m not saying I regret my time with you, dear. Sure, it would have been nice to potentially not have to live through a few horrible years of my life, but in the end, I found a new path.  
I am happier now than I’ve been in a several years, so it’s not like I really wish to have my old life back. I have developed into a completely new person because of you.”

Hearing these words manages to rematerialize Thariss’ smile as well and she leans forward, nuzzling their noses together.  
“And I think this person is pretty damn awesome.”

“I know and she’s all yours.”

“Probably the best part.”  
Thariss hugs her girlfriend once more, sighing contently. Not really the way she had expected to wake up this evening, but it’s always nice to have Riv in her arms.  
After a few more minutes of this, she figures that it might be time to start moving. They’ve dawdled for too long.  
“So, what do you want for breakfast?”

Riv is about to respond, but halts when both of them hear noises in the outskirts of the camp. In that direction, they can see how several Sentinels are walking around and their stances emit clear signs of tension.  
The two women glances at each other, and doesn’t even need to say anything, as they know they’re both on the same page.

Once they've gotten fully dressed, they head towards this location, eventually approaching the commanding officer in the group.  
“Captain?”, Thariss asks as they come close. “Is something wrong?”

This woman, with lilac skin and long green hair in a ponytail, is watching the ocean with the aid of a spyglass. She stops and turns in their direction, nodding curtly to acknowledge her advisors.  
“We’ve spotted something in the ocean to the north, but we don’t quite know what it is. It seems to be a ship of some kind, heading this way, but I don’t recognize the design.”

With worry surging through her chest, Riv swallows and extends her hand.  
“May I see it?”

The Captain turns the tool around and offers it to the sin’dorei. Riv only has to view it for a few seconds, before her body freezes and her eyes widen in shock. Thariss furrows her brow, putting a hand worriedly at her girlfriend’s shoulder.  
“You alright?”

“That’s…not a ship. It’s a necropolis.”


	6. Glimpse of purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Another Ashindra chapter, but this one also contains Kassari - Rivaryn's little sister - and Khroga, her girlfriend. They first appeared in "The Promised Land" and pictures of both exist in that character list on my blog that I linked at the start._

The city of Silvermoon has always been very pleasant to live in for the majority of its citizens. The sin’dorei, and previously the quel’dorei, have similar divisions of class and rank as humans, but they are more generous regarding the distribution of resources. The inequality in wealth is not nearly as wide and the elves prefer it that way. Instead, it is simply power and control that differs to an extended degree, something that also determines where you live.

This is reflected in Kassari Silvershroud’s situation as well. She is a member of the Magister Order, which means she is given more power than normal citizens due to the magocratic nature of Quel’Thalas. However, as she is but an Arcanist still – a middle rank – her home is located in the mid-tier of the city, not all too far away from where the upper class is situated, but still quite a distance to the areas of leadership.

Today, she is walking around in her apartment, checking various boxes for scrolls and items, wondering which ones she’ll need. She stands up a bit straighter and corrects her black hair which is kept in its usual bun. That’s when hears a voice.  
“Decided yet?”

The mage blinks and looks over her shoulder, seeing a taller and more muscular woman standing in the entrance to this particular room, an orc. Compared to Kass’ pink or fair skin, this one has a fern green complexion and black hair that is braided at the back, but empty at the top except for one thin and pointy line, like some type of mohawk. Other sections that differ are the dark brown eyes and the small tusks at the edge of her mouth. Her name is Khroga Steelfang, a shaman and she is someone that has become very important to Kass in the last year.  
While the elf wears a loose set of purple and black robes, Khroga is standing in a blue short-sleeved shirt with brown pants.

Kass briefly shakes her head.  
“Not quite. I’m not sure which ones I’ll definitely need.”

Khroga folds her arms, leans against the door frame and snorts amusedly.  
“Figured as much. You can’t bring all of them, you know.”

The elf runs a hand over her cheek and emits a sigh.  
“…I almost wish I could.”

“Kass, I’m not going to carry every box in your house.”

The eyes of the mage quickly drift back to view the taller woman, before she decides to close the distance between them. Upon approach, a charming smile crawls onto her lips and she sways her hips somewhat.  
“Aww, why not?”  
Once she’s right in front of the orc, with Khroga watching her intently, she sensually strokes her hands along those strong arms, displaying a small pout which she hopes look adorable.  
“Sure you can’t do it? Just for me?”

Khroga rolls her eyes. She’s not going to pretend that this doesn’t get her heart racing, but she won’t let that rule her.  
“Tsk. You’re pretty, but not that pretty.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She grabs the top of the shirt and drags Khroga into a more amenable height, in order for their lips to clash in an eager kiss. Ever since they got back to Silvermoon together, the two of them have been enjoying a lot of interactions like these, in a variety of locations. This apartment has not seen so much physical activity in quite a while, but it is refreshing.  
Before Kass can get all too far into her persuasive methods, however, they hear a knock on the door, albeit in a surprisingly gentle fashion.

As the kiss ends, both of their eyes glance to the side, before facing each other again.  
“Expecting guests?”, asks the shaman.

Kass furrows her brow as she considers her schedule today. Nothing comes to mind.  
“Not that I know. Better go check it, though.”  
She pushes herself onto her toes and plants another quick kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.  
“Wait here.”

“Sure.”

When she eventually reaches the door and opens it, Kass sees someone she definitely hadn’t expected to meet anytime soon.  
“Oh, Ash! It’s good to see you”, she greets her in Thalassian.

The mage takes a few steps forward and quickly hugs Ashindra. In the past, the paladin used to be a lot more open to intimacy, but this has diminished somewhat since the Scourge invasion, with the slow change in her personality. However, at this time, she actually returns this act with vigor.  
“You too.”

“How are you doing? I somehow expected that you would be stationed outside of the city right now, what with all the talks of recovery.”

As she tilts her head back, she notices another curious element – Ash appears both hesitant and slightly saddened. Her eyes are lowered towards the ground.  
“Erm, yeah, that might be the case for others, but…I’m actually on leave.”

“Oh. That’s…unusual.” She catches herself in the act, wondering if it sounded inappropriate and clears her throat. “Erm, but not unwarranted, of course. You’ve been working very hard for the last few years.”

Ash shrugs.  
“Yeah, I guess. Didn’t really have much choice, though.”

“I see. Did Lady Liadrin force you to go on a holiday for once or something?”

“Not quite. I…I’ve simply had to ask for a break, as I can’t perform my duties at this time.”

Now that is definitely not the type of sentence she’d expect to hear from Ash, someone who has shown to not just always be ready to protect their people, but also work long and grueling hours. Then again, that was probably quite unsustainable.  
Kass looks unsure and places a hand on Ash’s shoulder.  
“Are you okay?”

It takes a few seconds for the paladin to respond, as Ash still refuses to fully look at her.  
“I…no. I’m not.”

This woman is not just a friend to Kass, but to her family. Or at least she has always been close to Rivaryn and that means Kass can’t just discard this situation.  
“You want to come in? Khroga is here, but she won’t disturb us, if you want to talk.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. And no, I don’t mind. I…was actually looking for someone to talk with and…well, I don’t have a lot of friends, besides you.”

After leading Ash inside, Kass closes and locks the front door behind them. As they slowly wander through the hallways together, the mage turns to gaze sideways at the other elf.  
“Does this have anything to do with, uh…your conflict with my sister?”

She notices how Ash swallows hesitantly to begin with, eyes focused on the path ahead.  
“You heard about that?”

“Just a little bit. She told me about some kind of confrontation at the Black Temple, that it got kinda heated.”

“How much details did she get into?”

“Not much at all. She mentioned that you were yelling at each other and that she wanted to prevent you from making some kind of mistake. I didn’t ask for more.”

As Ash sighs, it seems like it’s done out of relief, that Riv didn’t reveal the entire truth.  
“Well, she was right. I…did some things in Outland that I’m not entirely proud of, actions that I didn’t fully comprehend at the time, but that might have scarred me for life if I had completed them.”

Eventually the duo comes into another room, the one with Khroga, and the shaman is just placing another box down in an appropriate location, but now turns to face them. She gives them a quick wave.  
“Uh, hello.” She coughs somewhat awkwardly. “Ashindra, right? Not sure you remember me.”

As this is said in Common, Ash has to make a brief switch.  
“I do. Khroga Steelfang, shaman of the Horde and now Kassari’s girlfriend.”

“Oh. You’ve got a sharp memory.”  
She glances between the two women, but she doesn’t need to await the question.  
“I can give you some space, if you wanna talk.”

Ash inclines her head.  
“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Khroga takes a few steps away, towards a separate exit, but slows down before she has fully left.  
“Oh, I could make some tea for you, if you want. Got some ingredients with me for a Blackrock brew.”

This offer makes Kass smile.  
“I’d like a cup.”

Ash glances at Kass, before she nods.  
“Sure, that might be interesting.”  
The shaman smiles, gazes at Kass one last time and then departs the room, closing the door behind her. Once she does, Ash faces the mage.  
“She seems like a very good person, one who cares. You’re lucky to have her. I remember when I was like that…”

More self-criticism, something that sounds a little strange. Kass hasn’t heard much of that nature from Ash in the last few years.  
She gently strokes the paladin’s arm and leads her towards some seats.  
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Ash. You’re still the same person and there’s still a lot of good in you.”

Ash exhales and shuts her eyes.  
“Am I, though? Have you been talking to me in the last couple of years?”

“Of course, you know I have. Not as often as when you were with Riv, but…”

“And am I really the same woman as back then, you think? There’s no change at all?”

Kass hesitates, searching through Ash’s expression.  
“I haven’t seen you like this in quite a while. What exactly happened in Outland?”

The other woman slowly shakes her head again, refusing to meet Kass’ gaze.  
“I…I can’t tell you. All I can say is that I ended up in a few conflicts, not just with Riv, but Vesta too.  
Both of their words keep lingering in my mind and I can’t seem to get rid of it. I think about our conversations, dream about them. Only the battle at Quel’Danas helped to momentarily relinquish these thoughts from my head, but once the Sunwell returned, it somehow got worse.”

Kass arches an eyebrow, the confusion growing.  
“What? How could it get worse? The Sunwell has helped us, hasn’t it?”

“Well, it’s supposed to, but it hasn’t done for me what I may have hoped for. With a light like the Sunwell returning to our lives, it also awakened a type of guilt I haven’t felt in years. I know it probably sounds silly, but sometimes it feels like…like it judges me for my actions. I can’t describe it in any other way.”

They eventually end up pretty close to the seats and Ash slips down in an armchair, while Kass takes one on the opposite side.  
“That does sound quite strange. I’m not sure I’ve encountered a reaction like that in anyone else.”

Ash slumps in the chair and buries her face in her hands.  
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Kass. I don’t feel like my position in the Blood Knights is…what I should be doing.”

Kass views the paladin curiously for a few moments, crossing her legs.  
“Are you saying you don’t like the Blood Knights anymore?”

“No…no that’s not what I meant. I think they do good work for our people, for the most part, but there are some…unfortunate actions which have been taken by that organization. Perhaps we have advanced too aggressively into our society.”

Such an opinion was expressed by Riv as well, even if Kass didn’t really agree with her.  
“I don’t know. The Blood Knights have done a lot to protect Quel’Thalas and you were certainly needed against many threats around here.”

Ash sighs and turns her eyes towards the mage.  
“Kass…we enslaved a naaru to our cause, a being of pure Light. Is that really something that the Ashindra of the past would have done? My faith in the Light was absolute back then. I would’ve been horrified at something like this.”

Kass nibbles at her lower lip, knowing that she had heard of this event, but never actually saw the being itself.  
“That…is true. Drastic measures had to be taken, though, for our survival.”

“Yes, but forcing a creature, an entity of Light, to serve us?”  
She shrugs, looking a bit lost and helpless.  
“I feel like my mind, my morals, my beliefs, all of them have been twisted and changed into something different after the invasion. That was probably why I was willing to go so far in Outland.”

The way she says it is certainly enough to get Kass interested, as she doesn’t know what occurred between Ash and Vestarial, but she doesn’t wish to intrude either.  
“You can’t be fully blamed for the way you acted, Ash. The Scourge destroyed a lot of lives, whether by killing them or causing trauma for others.”

“Perhaps that’s true to a certain extent, but at some point, I’m gonna have to accept some responsibility. I can’t keep blaming others for every mistake I make.”

It’s hard to know what to do here, what would be right to tell Ash, as Kass herself has not been in such a position. Then again, she probably just wants someone that listens to her.  
“So, what do you want to do?”

Ash leans back in the chair and folds her arms.  
“I don’t really know. I don’t wish to just abandon the Blood Knights, but…I also don’t know if I belong there.” She raises a hand to rub her eyes. “Maybe your sister had the right idea.”

“About what?”

“Leaving Quel’Thalas. Maybe I…need to get away from here, find something new elsewhere.”

This is Ash’s life and her decision, of course, but Kass still doubts whether this would be the right choice.  
“Will that really solve anything, though?”

“No idea, but at least it worked for Riv, right? She found a new purpose, a new home, a new…” She stops for a few seconds before she dares speak the last word. “…lover.”

The way this is said, it is pretty clear that emotions are tense within that section of her mind as well.  
“You’re not…jealous of Thariss, are you?”

Ash furrows her brow, diverting her eyes elsewhere, but her tone mostly remains calm.  
“I admit that…there might be something to it, but mostly I’m just happy for Riv.  
I’m not gonna try to take her back. That would never work anyway. She is a new woman, while I’m just…broken.”

Sorrow. That’s what she displays, what she expresses, what seems to be infused in her. It is beyond the jealousy, anger, irritation and doubt. Kass knows she both wants and needs to help.  
“I don’t agree, Ash. You may be hurt, but you aren’t gone. You have to trust yourself somehow, that you can do better.  
If you really want to get away, though, maybe I can help. I’m actually temporarily leaving Silvermoon soon, with Khroga. That’s why we’ve been packing.”

Ash looks at her and blinks.  
“Packing?”  
She glances around the room and sees the boxes, as well as the erratically placed items.  
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed. Where are you going?”

“Well, there have been a lot of strange occurrences as of late, surrounding the magical leylines of Azeroth. We haven’t been able to perform teleportations the way that we should, and the Magisters are worried. A few have already been dispatched and I’m now being sent away as well. I have to travel to the Undercity and speak to some of the Forsaken mages.  
If you wish, you would certainly be allowed to accompany me. I could use another friend there and you would also be a pretty decent escort.”

Ash seems to drift into her own mind for a short while, perhaps pondering the angles and the options available, but it doesn’t last as long as expected.  
“I think I’d actually like that. I can’t come with you in any ‘official’ capacity, though. I’m still on leave.”

Kass smiles at her.  
“You don’t have to. You’re still my friend and a talented paladin, Ash, so you can simply act in that capacity.  
Come with us. I’m sure we can think of something.”

Ash turns to view the slightly younger woman, her former lover’s little sister, and it doesn’t take long for her to mirror the expression.  
“Alright then. Let’s do it.”


	7. Forlorn winds

_These surroundings, the images before her, the unavoidable fear…it’s familiar. All around the vicinity, the very soil of the ground becomes cracked and rotten, the plants withering unnaturally quick and the air is filled with stenches of death, decay, and charred remains._  
_The earth beneath her is not just stained with the blood of her people, but a foul corruptive energy as well. It’s like the very world is becoming a twisted image of itself, overrun with grotesque creatures, and everything else slowly deforms around them._

_“Sergeant!”_

_She has been here before, hasn’t she? Is this reality? Was everything else but a dream, a mistaken memory, and this is her actual world? Or is her mind possibly playing tricks on her? It certainly feels like the former. The armor tightly hugging her body, the bow in her hand, the quiver hanging over her shoulder, the wind running its grasp through her hair. It’s all very familiar, very comforting…if it were not for all the horrors that slowly tries to close her inside of a living Nether realm._

_“Sergeant!”_

_There are noises in every direction, distant ones, almost like flickering distorted whispers through the wind. Most of them sound like screams, ones of terror and agony. She has heard this tune before; not by choice, but because she could not escape it. No one could._  
_At the same time, though, it feels like someone else tries to reach out to her, to get her attention, but she can’t quite hear them. It’s not because she doesn’t want to, but her perception is dulled, not quite as it should be. She wants to make a better attempt, but much like her body, it’s locked, paralyzed._

_“SERGEANT!”_

_All hesitation is suddenly knocked out of her by a vicious blow to her back. She is ambushed from behind, tackled to the ground as sharp edges like daggers dig into her skin. She is unable to oppose them and falls down, hitting the tainted soil in an unstoppable velocity._  
_Gathering her strength, she only has time to roll around in order to face the things that chase her. The terrifying visage of the monsters above her is hard to hard to explain, even more so to actually strike. Their skins are rotten and torn open, intestines pouring out from the gaps. Tattered remnants of clothes and hair can be seen, now almost as part of their bodies. The only sign that they are actually creatures with any activity, is the blue light of their eyes, like a wavering flame. Why it burns, she doesn’t know, but it fills her with fear, shame and pity. Her people should not have to suffer like this. They deserved better._

_Before any of these undead abominations are even able to touch her, one of them gets an arrow right into its side, piercing the body with such speed that it stumbles away. Slowly, the ghoul tries to turn, but is hit by another fierce arrow, this time in the throat and it drops to the ground._  
_Only moments after this, a vengeful shade leaps into the area, digging a blade into the abdomen of the second creature, slicing it open and kicking the remains away. The third faces a similarly short fate, before it is decapitated._

_A woman with long flowing brown hair, light skin and a headband on top of her head, turns towards the onlooker. She is both beautiful and intimidating, standing there in a similar green armor and cloak as the one on the ground. Her long and pointed ears are easily distinguishable, as are the glowing blue eyes filled with life – unlike the undead – ones that now turn towards the woman on the ground with fury, shortly before grabbing her arm and dragging her to her feet._

_“Pull yourself together, Silvershroud!”_  
_Rivaryn can’t answer her, but the other elf isn’t about to wait either. Instead, she delivers a brief backhand slap to Riv’s face, to knock her back into reality._  
_“I didn’t keep you around this long just to see you fall now.”_

_Riv’s face stings with pain, and she raises her hand to ease it, before she faces her companion._  
_“Cap…Captain Sah’nir?”_

_Trienza frowns at her, taking a step closer. The Ranger-Captain has always been taller than her, although not ridiculously so for one of their kind. What she possesses in abundance, though, is bravery and ferocity._  
_“What in the sun’s name is wrong with you? Did you think you could stare the undead into surrender?”_

_Riv hesitates, her eyes falling to the ground. This scolding is all too familiar of the past, especially with Trienza’s voice. She has such a sharp and commanding tone, which allows no rebellion, demands loyalty. No one can get people running like Captain Sah’nir. Riv has always respected her for it._  
_“No, I…I just…”_

_She doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure how to make this better. Her eyes drift over towards the creatures again, vision filling with horror once more. She can’t stop staring. It’s not just their appearance, but what they represent. Is this what happens to all of those who are killed? Is this what the Scourge does to her people? She will have to destroy her own brethren to succeed? What kind of monster would allow such a thing? It almost makes her retch just to consider it._

_Fortunately, Trienza is there and she grabs Riv’s chin in a firm grip, making them look at each other. The anger doesn’t wash away, but it transforms into determination. It’s not just her superior standing there now, but her mentor._  
_“Listen to me, Rivaryn”, she says with a tone closer to that of a stern mother. “Are you listening?”_

_“Y…yes.”_

_“I can’t hear you!”_

_“Yes…yes, Captain!”_

_Trienza inclines her head, satisfied enough._  
_“You are still here, Rivaryn, you’re still alive, still able to fight. I know how terrifying all of this is, how hopeless it seems, and I don’t blame you for faltering. But no matter what, we can’t give up. Do you understand? We are Farstriders, and we will fight until our very last breath in order to defend our people. If you keep yourself together and stay strong, we will not fail in our duty._  
_Can you do that, Silvershroud? Can you serve your people like you should?”_

_The words fill Rivaryn with a surprising amount of warmth and courage, like it was exactly what she needed to hear. She finds herself returning to who she was always meant to be, who she knew herself as._  
_“I can, Captain”, she reassures Trienza. “I will keep fighting, I swear.”_

_Trienza lowers her hand and pats Riv’s shoulder. No smile, no hug – that’s not her style._  
_“Good, then follow me. We must relocate.”_  
_She quickly glances around the area._  
_“Where’s Khevala?”_

_By mentioning the lynx’s name, Riv lowers her gaze again, only slightly, as she clutches her bow tightly._  
_“I…I’m sorry, Captain. She didn’t make it.”_

_It’s fairly brief, but sorrow appears in Trienza’s eyes, as she diverts them._  
_“…I’m sorry to hear that. She was a good companion to you, a brave defender. She will be missed.”_  
_She then turns around, cloak swirling after her._  
_“We must still stay strong. The day can still be won. C’mon.”_

_As they continue through the torn land of southern Quel’Thalas together, they face many more undead and retreating Farstriders. They’ve done so ever since this invasion began. Riv doesn’t know how it started, or why, but when Ranger-General Windrunner sent for reinforcements, they had to obey. In a one-on-one fight, any elf can defeat the abominations without issue, but the problem is in the numbers. They’re never just one-on-one, or even two-on-one, but rather ten-on-one, sometimes worse. They get overwhelmed by the sheer mass of destruction._  
_While they help their other forces with arrows and blades, Trienza delivers more grave news._

_“More defenses have fallen further north, and I’m being told that Bin’doriel is flickering. Something is going on, and I fear our enemies have attained pieces of the Key of the Three Moons. The undead frontline may soon breach the inner gates.”_

_Riv widens her eyes in shock._  
_“W-what? How is that possible? Bin’doriel, it…it has stood for generations. Nothing can take it down. Not even the orcs were able to.”_

_Trienza’s grim appearance continues, even as she shoots down her foes with ease._  
_“That’s what we assumed, but I don’t believe that these abominations have succeeded either. I get the feeling that there’s something else. We may have a traitor in our ranks.”_

_“A traitor? Who would give us up to the undead? Who would sacrifice our homeland for this…this nightmare?”_

_The Captain sighs and shakes her head._  
_“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that we do our best to prevent any further slaughter. We must find a workaround.”_  
_That’s when they wander up on a bit of a slope, ending in a cliff edge. In the distance, they both witness something horrifying coming in their direction. It is a gigantic creature, made of reinforced bone and rotten flesh, seemingly crawling forward on four thin legs. All around it, dark magic and plague spreads, creating death and corruption to the land and everything in it._  
_“The Scourge has recently employed these things in their wake, in order to scrub the land clean, hoping to craft more slaves for their armies. It seems the undead feed and grow stronger when surrounded by this energy as well. This will only kill more quel’dorei and harm Quel’Thalas. We cannot allow that.”_  
_She turns her head, facing Riv._  
_“This enemy, and everyone like it, must be destroyed. Unfortunately, heading in without a backup plan is unwise. Silvermoon City and the rest of our people must be warned of what’s happening, so that we can prepare evacuation measures. This is your job.”_

_Riv looks at her superior with surprise._  
_“What?”_

_“Sergeant, grab a squad of what we have left and head back up north. You must do your very best to get ahead of the Scourge horde and make sure our people remain safe.”_

_Getting away from the slaughter around her is an appealing prospect, but there are still questions._  
_“I…I can do that, of course, but what will you do in the meantime, Captain? You may be needed elsewhere.”_

_With an even grimmer look on her face, Trienza frowns and shakes her head, her gaze focused on the land ahead._  
_“No, I won’t. This is where I will be.”_

_Somehow, she had expected this answer, as devastating as it is. Riv’s expression mirrors this feeling._  
_“Captain, you can’t be serious. You can’t fight that monster! You’ll only get yourself killed!”_

_As she has always been stubborn, Trienza only offers her a disapproving scowl._  
_“I am well aware of my fate, but someone must hinder those creatures before it gets worse. The remains of my squad and I will see to this.”_

_It’s true that she isn’t alone, as there are still elves fighting nearby, some of them being further down as well. This is a good vantage point to fire arrows from, as the road goes around below it, but arrows won’t stop that large plague-spreading creation._  
_“I…no. I won’t leave you, Captain. I refuse!”_

_Trienza grits her teeth at first, before she stomps the ground and points at her companion._  
_“Sergeant! This is not up for debate!”_

_“You are one of our best officers, our most skilled archers! I can’t just leave you to die!”_

_“You will follow my orders and that is final! I don’t want to hear any more.”_

_She receives no more than cold and rejection in return, but Riv can’t accept this. She won’t. Trienza is not just her superior, but her trainer, her mentor…her friend._  
_“And what will they tell me in Silvermoon when they hear that I left you? That I allowed this to happen? I can’t just…”_

_She hesitates about what to say, what to convince Trienza with, but there really is nothing that could change this. In a moment of comprehension, the Captain shuts the distance between them and places a hand on Riv’s shoulder, her voice lowered so no one else can hear._  
_“There is no more reason to act this way, Rivaryn. The life we knew is over, it will never return. What we must do now is save everything we can.”_  
_She stumbles on her words a bit, as if she hesitates whether she should continue._  
_“Find Efaria. Please. Tell her…tell her I love her, and that I’m sorry. Tell her I wish I was a better wife.”_

_Riv feels her throat going dry, her jaw tightening. She forces herself to stay firm._  
_“Captain…”_

_“Please, do this for me. It’s all I ask.”_

_Eventually, Riv is too tired to struggle, too filled with pain to fight. There is nothing more she can do._  
_She holds up a closed fist to her chest in salute._  
_“It has been an honor to serve with you, Captain.”_

_The determination returns to Trienza’s eyes and she gets into a similar kind of position, giving Riv the same salute._  
_“And with you as well, Sergeant. Know that I am proud of you, and always remember – everything for Quel’Thalas. Now, go.”_

_With no more words remaining, Trienza turns around sharply, facing the enemy getting closer and closer. Seeing no need to wait, she jumps down over the cliff edge, to the path several meters below and draws her two swords. The last thing Riv sees with tear-filled eyes is how her Captain leaps towards a cluster of ghouls, carving her blades into them, with her cloak swaying in the wind._  
  


* * *

  
“Rivaryn!”

She hears her named being called again, but this time by a different voice, in a different year. It is familiar, but for dissimilar reasons. As she suddenly awakens, she finds herself being faced with danger and destruction, much like all those years ago. The green of the grass below her is darker than that of Eversong, but still comparable.  
Before her, she spots the terror which probably triggered these memories and sent her into the past – the visage of undead. Much like during that event, she is saved by someone with a sword, just like Trienza once did, but this one being a lot taller.

Thariss slams her shield into a skeleton, decapitates a ghoul and spins around in order to knock everyone back. She will not allow anyone or anything to harm her girlfriend. She is not alone either, as Razz is next to Riv, growling and clawing at their enemies as he tries to keep them at bay, in order to protect his elven companion.  
When all of the enemies in her path are gone, Thariss lowers herself to Riv, who’s currently kneeling on the ground. She’s shaking, sweat pouring down her forehead.

“Rivaryn!”, Thariss says again. She drops her sword and puts a hand on her girlfriend’s head, being very careful with her.  
“Are you here, Riv? Can you hear my voice?”  
She has to wait a couple of seconds, but Riv does eventually display a very brief nod.  
“Thank Elune…”, she mumbles. “We’re in Darkshore, not far from Auberdine. Do you remember?”

From behind, Thariss hears how more undead arrive, and Razz does his best to slash and snap his jaw at them.  
After taking a few deep breaths, Riv manages to speak quietly.  
“I…I remember. We’re in a battle, I think?”

Thariss smiles, looking relieved.  
“We are. You sort of just…disappeared earlier, when they arrived. I was afraid of what might’ve happened and found you behind this rock, with Razz trying to protect you.”  
She hesitates slightly, seeing how pale Riv appears, not to mention the sweat and tears.  
“You don’t look well. I can take you into safety, if you prefer.”

She’s about to continue speaking, but notices how Riv slowly looks up. She faces the undead in the distance, and without saying anything, the blood elf raises her rifle and fires on one of those attacking her raptor. It falls to the shore, dying a second death almost immediately. Her new gun is more powerful than Thariss assumed.  
“I can manage. There’s…something I must tell the defenders, about the necropolis.”

Thariss scowls and looks up, seeing the big flying construction currently positioned to the west of the coastline. Every now and then, it fires a volley of darkened orbs, filled with necromantic energies. Added to this, there’s also some kind of beam at the bottom, which constantly teleports new undead forces to the ground. Thariss doesn’t know how many troops it contains, but doesn’t really care at this point. Protecting her home is the most important aspect right now.

“Right. Well, follow me, then. I’ll get you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anyone remember how Rivaryn talked about her mentor Trienza in Torn and unbound? Yeah, this was her and the last time Riv saw her._   
>  _I wasn't thinking of any specific Scourge creature with those plague spreaders btw. In my head, they just look like big crawling skeletal monsters with dark magic coming from underneath. Just figured it made sense that the Scourge would have something like that._


	8. Light in the shadows

Just like in many other regions across Azeroth, there are several ways to leave the borders of Quel’Thalas. While air and sea routes tend to be the most popular options, land-based escorts are also available, even if somewhat more perilous.  
Kassari actually prefers using magical transportation, as it is a type of spell she is adept at casting, but that is not an option at this time, due to the arcane distortions around Azeroth. That is why she’s leaving Silvermoon, after all.

When choosing a method to utilize, Kass was disappointed to see that pretty much no ships were currently available to leave in a short time and as the amount of stuff she wanted to bring was too much for dragonhawks, they had to find an alternative.  
Luckily, a solution presented itself through a caravan that was departing for the Undercity anyhow. As an Arcanist, Kass is allowed to requisition escorts from the official city guard force of Silvermoon, which is why she has decided to bring a handful of them with her. They obviously increase the security value that Khroga and Ashindra already offer.

It has been a while since any of them have travelled to the south using this particular road, to the region now known as the Eastern Plaguelands. The last time Ash was here, it was called Darrowmere Forest and certainly didn’t look like this. She did occasionally make journeys down here, in order to visit the various facilities dedicated to the Light; especially the big church that existed inside Stratholme, the largest human city this far north. The path used to be littered with tall dark trees, peaceful farms and the occasional village center. The people here were friendly to the elves, always curious of what their northern neighbors were up to. Now, nothing of it remains but a plagued and torn landscape.

There are obviously still people who travel down this path, but it tends to be unruly and treacherous. It’s difficult to traverse due to the destruction that the land has suffered, along with the many physical dangers that exist in this area.  
The Scourge has indirectly ruled this territory for quite a while, ever since they first appeared in Lordaeron and spread through the many settlements, corrupting the denizens into becoming part of their unliving swarm. The situation used to be worse only a few years ago, but it changed after the necropolis known as Naxxramas was assaulted and forced to relocate, to avoid total obliteration. It has been somewhat quieter here since then.

The lack of direct leadership doesn’t exactly make the Plaguelands any safer, though. The undead still roam, often without any other thought than to cause chaos and very few are capable of surviving an onslaught without escorts.  
The leader of this particular caravan was quite sure that they would not be affected by the undead’s attacks, though, as he believed the size of their group was a bit too big to be an appropriate target. Unfortunately, he underestimated the Scourge.

At this time, they have ridden about a day into the withered forest’s domain, when some of those involved notice something in the air. It is not just the passengers, but the hawkstriders that pull the wagons get tense as well.  
Kass is sitting next to Khroga in the wobbling cart, which shakes back and forth due to the uneven road. She looks up to the sky and furrows her brow, instinctively leaning somewhat closer to her girlfriend.

“You feel that? The winds just got even colder.”

The orc nods slowly.  
“Yeah, this land has surely suffered a lot. I could already sense it from the agonized spirits of earth, when we were in the Ghostlands. The elements here must be twisted on every level.”

“Hmm. I dunno, it feels…different somehow.”

Ash, who sits on the opposite side of the same wagon, obviously overhears the conversation. She contemplates this notion for a moment, before she figures that it might be best to give it a try. Better safe than sorry.  
She shuts her eyes and puts her hands together, saying a quiet prayer to the Light and asking for its guidance. Despite a certain lack of faith in the last few years, it returns her call and gives her access to the correct abilities, in order to sense what may be amiss.

“You’re right”, she says eventually. “I detect corruption nearby. I believe undead forces are heading our way.”

Kass starts to look rather worried.  
“Damn. If that’s the case, we can’t just sit here and wait. We have to prepare.”  
She doesn’t stand up, but instead moves on her knees to the edge of the cart, so that she can be heard by the caravan leader.  
“Excuse me! Our paladin has just detected traces of the undead. An attack may be imminent!”

From the front wagon, a man with long blonde hair and light skin pokes his head out from the side and smiles in her direction.  
“Ah, that’s nothing to worry about, Arcanist! The Scourge is always here, but they won’t do much else than watch. Trust me, they won’t dare to assault a well-protected convoy like ours.”

It’s almost exactly at this moment that Ash quickly diverts her eyes to the sky and spots something above them.  
“Look out! They’re coming from the west!”

She points towards an area over the trees, but the warning is too late for some. A pack of gargoyles suddenly swoop down from this direction and fly straight for the many wagons, ripping into them. They tear at the roofs and walls with their claws, and a few even ram one cart, which loses its hold on the road and topples to the ground. Some of the hawkstriders start to panic and try to run away, while others desperately look for instructions.

Seeing no other alternative when the caravan leader does nothing to remedy the situation, Kass takes charge and offers a command.  
“Stop the wagons, right now!” She turns to the guards. “Get your weapons out and defend the civilians!”

The Silvermoon guards are somewhat hesitant, but they are trained for these types of scenarios and quickly react when a member of the Magisters calls for them. They are not alone, of course, as Khroga jumps into action as well, grabbing the greataxe of her father, Magokash.  
Once the gargoyle’s attack has succeeded, more shadows appear among the trees on ground level. Skeletons and ghouls release their hungry growls, as they attempt to assault the living. These creatures are supported by necromantic entities in the back, raining down dark magic from the sky.

A few of the guards connected to the caravan itself fall during this initial attack, making the other passengers and workers cry out in fear. The caravan leader himself is also getting scared and starts to panic.  
“This…this is too much! We can’t handle this many! W-we need to flee, right now!”  
Unfortunately, as he and a few others try to run away and abandon their gear, they rush right into another group of undead that arrive from the other side. The caravan is completely surrounded and with these civilians exposed, the undead tear them apart. It is too late for them to be saved.

Once the necromantic energies wash over them, however, Kass draws magical runes in the air above her, summoning an arcane barrier that protects their immediate vicinity from the worst of the spells.  
“I can do this and brief teleportations, but no heavier transports. I can’t get us out of here, so someone will have to destroy those necromancers.”

Ash is standing nearby, wearing a few pieces of gear, but not her full armor; she didn’t exactly expect to get a fight on their hands of this magnitude.  
What she can do, however, is pull out her sword and the heavy shield, which she immediately imbues with energies of the Light.  
“I’ll see what I can do, but I might need some backup.”

As the first of the undead troops reach them, Khroga infuses magic from the elements to her axe and gusts of wind can be felt across its length. She uses this to cut down a couple of foes with ease. Each swing is followed by a slight growl.  
“I’ve got your back. Just try to be quick about it!”

Together, Ash, Khroga, the Silvermoon guards and Kass provide probably the fiercest defensive squad in this entire caravan and the rest of the people try to gather around them, hoping to be safe. Unfortunately, this sort of boxes them in, focusing the majority of the undead forces in one location.  
Ashindra gets the opportunity to display a lot of her own abilities, as compared to the other elves, she does not merely slash the undead with her sword, but severe them completely, making their bodies burn with righteous fury. Some almost shatter into ash, unable to resist the power of the Light.

She also has other skills, though, as she has a history in positions of command. She coordinates the Silvermoon soldiers, informing them and the caravan guards where the gaps in their defenses appear, so that they can minimize any weaknesses and prevent the undead from penetrating it. Even if this reinforces their belief that they may be able to last a while longer, it doesn’t actually get them any close to the necromancers, which might destroy them in the end anyhow, unless they’re swift.

Seeing as how she’s the one most suited to fight these types of enemies, Ash tries to go for a desperate assault, using her spiked shield to bash several foes away, while occasionally poking her sword out to deal with any stray targets.  
Unfortunately, before she can continue the entire way towards the closest necromancer, her shield receives a heavy blow that knocks her back somewhat and briefly staggers her. She doesn’t fall, but when she looks up, she comes face to face with a huge abomination. It is a kind of creature she has encountered before, but its grotesque and twisted image, combined by so many bodies and cadavers, is always disgusting and somewhat frightening to witness.

The first one is joined by several others and Ash sees no choice but to retreat, as she is now getting surrounded by undead from all directions.  
In the middle of the gathered civilians, Kass is starting to waver, her body shaking somewhat and sweat is pouring down her forehead. The necromancers are really pounding at her shield, knowing that she can’t last forever, and she pulls from her innermost reserves to keep it intact.

“Ash, please…I can’t maintain this spell for much longer!”

The paladin grits her teeth and slashes wildly around herself. Occasionally, some of the ghouls try to get their claws and fangs on her, and she has to elbow them away or otherwise get rid of them. It is inevitable to conclude that they’re getting overwhelmed.  
“I’m trying my best here, dammit!”

The survivors are starting to fear for their lives, and even Kass wonders if they can remain. Perhaps she will have to attempt some kind of teleportation anyhow, but that might go completely awry and explode right in their faces instead. That’s apparently what happened to another Arcanist a few weeks ago and at this location, she might endanger a bunch of civilians. This is not a risk that she or anyone else wishes to take, but they may have no choice.

Or that is what they all assume, until they suddenly hear a different sound from the outside, with a voice calling over the undead’s unnerving noises.  
“Crusaders, forward! Initiate flanking maneuvers!”

On the outer layers of the Scourge’s onslaught, a new force arrives and does not hesitate in their advance. It immediately charges into the undead, cutting down the outermost row.  
Given the chance to glance in that direction, one can spot various people from different origins and with different abilities, all united beneath one banner. Humans, gnomes, orcs, tauren, sin’dorei, quel’dorei, kaldorei and more. Most of them appear to be some type of warrior or paladin, but there are also a few rogues, archers and probably some priests too.

Except for their diverse nature, the tabards they wear are also interesting – the major color is grey, with lines of gold at the edges. In the middle hangs a black star symbol with a golden center and an outstretched humanoid hand, displaying an open palm. Ash can’t say that she recognizes this appearance from anywhere she has fought in this section of Azeroth before, but assistance is surely welcome, no matter who they are.

While the undead seemed to have been winning earlier, with this new group helping to cause some havoc, the sin’dorei manage to recover some of their courage and hope, and properly pushes back against the Scourge. Once Kass can’t hold out with her barrier any longer, some of the Silvermoon guards position themselves around the civilians to act as shields instead, letting the mage recuperate in the center.

During this type of reversal, any sensible living force would have begun their retreat, but these creatures are not living, and they do not care for a second death; after all, they could wait for a third or a fourth, if they are returned to use.  
The undead necromancers are somewhat more intelligent than the others, though, and realize that to actually have a chance at causing some damage, they must eliminate those who maintain the morale of the enemy forces. This is why one targets a prominent Silvermoon guard lieutenant, who is protecting the civilians the fiercest. A spell pierces his chest and he groans, before he falls to his knees, making the civilians scurry.

As the necromancer hisses in victory, it is just about to unleash another spell over a larger area, to finish the guard and potentially hurt the civilians too. Before it can manage this maneuver, however, another person hurries up to this location and the necromantic spell is disrupted by a different barrier appearing, this one created from Holy Light.  
“Think you can destroy the wounded so easily? Not on my watch.”

Ash is fighting nearby, and she sees the eruption of magic, making her turn to look in that direction. She does not spot a typical soldier standing there, but a woman in long blue, gold and white robes. It is a human, with dark brown skin, fierce grey eyes and long black hair in a low ponytail that dances in the wind.  
Her control of the Light is rather impressive, and with her free hand, she produces holy fire from her finger which destroys two nearby skeletons.

“Knights, a defender has fallen! Back me up!”, she shouts after this maneuver is pulled off.

Three warriors - an orc, a dwarf and a troll - arrives to assist her.  
“Yes, Lieutenant!”, they respond.

Obviously, she’s some type of officer and actually seems to be the leader of the entire squad. While the coast is clear, she ends her barrier and kneels down to the fallen sin’dorei. She puts her hand over the areas where dark magic has penetrated his body, and a golden light leaves her palm, purging the corruptive elements, which heals him. She smiles slightly, seeming satisfied with her work.  
“You’re gonna be okay and should be able to fight a while longer, if you prefer, but you will need to rest later.”

The elf pushes himself to his feet and inclines his head.  
“…thank you. I appreciate the save.”

“Anytime.”

The entire display intrigues Ash more than she anticipated. The wish to protect these people without being asked, the determination and the control of the Light – this Lieutenant is rather inspiring to watch.  
Once the newcomers start having some trouble of their own, Ash decides to relocate and carves a path to their station. Internally asking the Light to aid her, it responds, and an aura radiates around her, letting her cut down undead after undead.

A gnome rogue is about to be overwhelmed by a few skeletons, but Ash’s blade eliminates three of them, letting the gnome himself destroy the last two. He looks up at the elf when they're safe.  
“Thanks! Thought I was a goner there for a second!”

Ash nods at him.  
“You scratch our backs, we’ll scratch yours. We are one in this fight.”

“Sounds good to me!”

She isn’t quite sure why, but Ash turns her eyes back to the human, and coincidentally, the officer is looking in her direction too. The Lieutenant smiles and nods at her, in silent gratitude.  
Before she can respond, they are distracted by the sound of the abominations, who are now coming very close to the wagons. The Crusaders have tried to deal with them, but they are persistent.  
“Damn”, she says human. “We have to get rid of them somehow. Hey, you, paladin! If you keep these big bastards off me, I’ll deal with the necromancers! That should scare off the rest.”

Ash has now reached this location and positions herself next to the Knights as another barricade against the waves.  
“My shield is yours.”

Together, they weather the remaining opposition that tries to destroy them, while the Lieutenant prepares a spell that should be enough to shatter even the fiercest of magical creatures. A few seconds later, bright lights rain from the sky, destroying a duo of the few necromancers that were present. Along with the efforts of Khroga, Kass and the Silvermoon guards, the Scourge has suffered too much damage to their collective brainpower and the remaining forces now actually decide to retreat. There’s no more reason to continue fighting.

The civilians and defenders erupt in cheers. Despite some deaths and the losses of a few wagons, they are thankful that most of the passengers are alive. Many of them immediately approach their saviors, in order to offer their gratitude. Ash does the same, actually, but specifically approaches the human officer. From this close range, it is easy to see that the human is shorter than her.  
She clears her throat before she speaks.  
“I…thanks, for interfering so quickly. We hadn’t expected any aid from strangers out here.”

The human smiles at her and shrugs casually.  
“That’s what we do. It’s part of our purpose to protect the innocent from the Scourge, especially when they’ve come back in such large numbers.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call myself innocent, but thanks anyway.”  
She extends her hand.  
“Ashindra Revenor, of the Blood Knights.”

The human accepts the offer, joining their fingers in a rather gentle grasp.  
“Melia Haven, medical officer and Lieutenant of the Argent Crusade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Finally the first appearance of Melia._   
>  _If you haven't checked it already, her appearance is obviously available in the character list link from the intro._


	9. Skyfallen fire

If there’s one aspect of life that the kaldorei people have faced many times in the past, it is combat. Several major battles have been waged over the millennia within their territories, some more devastating than others. In fact, the fiercest one was so destructive that it tore the entire initial continent apart.  
While they are no strangers to traversing the fires of death and obliteration, their opponents tend to differ. The various demons from the Burning Legion are enemies that the elves have become accustomed to tackling, having seen it as their foremost mission to stop their conquest of this world. The creatures they face today, however, are much more of an anomaly.

The terrible news from a few years ago, regarding the rise and expansion of undead forces on the eastern continent, did not escape the people of Kalimdor either. While they became aware of the events, though, none of them believed that these horrors would ever arrive on their shores. They may not be strangers to fighting terrible opponents, but it’s difficult to say whether they were actually ready for this specific type of foe.

In the outskirts of Auberdine on this windy night, a huge structure is hovering in the sky, a type of building that none here has ever seen, but that someone else had previously identified as a ‘necropolis’. It had been spotted in the northern sea to begin with, but as the Sentinels figured that the undead would not be satisfied with attacking random outposts in the middle of nowhere, they relocated almost immediately to the town, in hopes of protecting it. As they are forced to battle against wave after wave of Scourge troops, it is clear that their assumption was correct.

To avoid being targeted by anti-air devices, the necropolis stopped over the northwestern beach. The Sentinel forces reacted to this by crafting makeshift barricades outside of the town, as to focus the battle away from the buildings and civilians. They have also extracted all sorts of weapons and contraptions, anything they have to protect themselves with. The defenses are being led by none other than Battlemaster Shaerai and this happens to be her first major battle in this role. The last time anyone from Darkshore fought in a war, during the last Legion invasion, they were led by Battlemaster Veldarya.

Luckily, Shaerai is not alone. Javynna, her mother and the senior Elune priestess in this region, is obviously present as well, having brought some members of her Order here to aid the soldiers. The priests purpose is not only to support and reinforce the soldiers, but also to protect the town.  
The source of their concern is the necropolis itself. A bright blue beam is currently active from the bottom of it, which it occasionally teleports undead troops with, but it is capable of more than that.

Javynna had been concentrating on boosting some of the Sentinels with Elune’s light, but once more senses foul magic in the air. Her eyes are drawn to the structure and she gazes upon a growing green-black orb that forms on its side. She gasps and quickly rushes towards the edge of town again.  
“Priests, to me! It’s sending another volley!”

All of the elves in lighter clothing or small bits of armor hurry to her location and prepare a united prayer to Elune. As they do, moonlight erupts around them, which they shape into a huge barrier. The necromantic energies slam into them for several seconds, but eventually abates. They survived another volley, but this also drained some of their stamina. It has done this several times by now, seemingly needing a few minutes between every recharge. It’s hard to know how many times it can do this, but one thing is certain – the priests will not last forever.

Simultaneously, the kaldorei defenders get to witness another unusual sight, but one that is much more reassuring. Raxeen, as the only paladin and draenei in this area, has obviously joined their efforts. She walks around with Kerastha Rakkan, her special crystal hammer infused with the powers of the Light. Not only is the weapon itself large and sturdy, but with the holy blessings within, it becomes utterly devastating. She bashes and crushes the Scourge troops easily, only occasionally stopping to toss out a purging Light-based spell. The night elves have very little experience with the Light, but her strength is refreshing.

“Pheta vi acahachi! Mishun re dana’shj kar!”, she exclaims in her language, before destroying another skeleton, as well as kicking a ghoul in the chest and then smashing it on the ground.  
“The foundations for these creatures are fairly weak”, she remarks to the other defenders, speaking in Common. “Even the worst of demons can endure more pain than these ‘undead’, as you call them.”

Javynna soon returns to this location, gathering the powers of Elune in her hand and unleashes it on some nearby wraiths, which she smites rather quickly.  
“Do you have any experience with fighting against these types of enemies?”

Two ghouls try to tackle Rax from the side, but due to being so much larger and more heavily armored than them, they aren’t much of a match. She elbows one in the face and smacks the other with her wristguard, shortly before annihilating them with the hammer.  
“Some, but not a lot. We call them ‘man’elar’, which can be loosely translated to ‘unnatural spirits’. It is derived from a similar base as the word ‘man’ari’, a term for corrupted beings.  
Animating the dead is a favored tactic of the nathrezim, though in a completely different manner. They prefer to utilize them to confuse and discourage, sometimes as cannon fodder, but not to this extent. Not as armies.”

“Indeed. They did something similar to us during the last invasion, but not through these machines.”

“It is rarely a tactic they employ against my people, due to our strong connection to the Light, which often protect our fallen bodies and spirits. However, I cannot sense the nathrezim behind this attack.”  
A skeleton attempts to attack her with a heavy sword, but she parries the blade, kicks it in the chest region and then finishes with a Light-infused shock attack that blasts its head.  
“I suspect Rivaryn probably has more experience with this.”

“From all the stories I’ve heard, I agree”, she says and then turns a worried gaze over her battlefield. “Which makes me wonder where she and Thariss are. They should be here, but I can’t see them anywhere.”

If one looks for Shaerai, however, she can be found at the front of the defensive line, despite her rank. She stands right next to the rest of her warriors, with her long light blue hair stirring in the wind and her pale blue skin glistening in the moonlight, doing her best to hold off the undead horde. Compared to the magical tools at the disposal of Rax and Javynna, Shaerai only has her weapons, which includes a moonglaive and a shield. Obviously, she is very adept with these tools, not only carving destruction in close range, but occasionally tossing it onto distant foes, thrown in such a way that it ricochets back into her hand afterwards.

Except for these weapons, Shaerai also fights with her nightsaber companion at her side, as they work very efficiently as a duo. They constantly know where the other will strike, as if they were of one mind. Their strength and speed in this unified sense is among the very top out of all the gathered Sentinels. Thariss has technically been trained to fight in the same fashion, but she and Ilca are not as effective together.

After taking a step back to order some of her troops to another side of the battlefield, she takes a moment to breathe and look at her mother.  
“I wonder if there’s any end to these accursed creatures; they just keep coming.  
Also, how exactly are we going to take down that necropolis?”

“Do you not have siege weapons?”, Rax asks. “It is a structure, which means it would be quite vulnerable to them.”

“Yes, I know, and I did order some of my Sentinels to fire our glaive throwers at the start of the battle, but that thing has some type of barrier around it, which protects it from our attacks.”

If they turn their eyes towards the necropolis and focus, it is possible to observe a thin shimmering blue light around it, which is likely the edge of this magical fortification. Javynna gazes at it now, feeling the concern growing in the back of her mind.  
“I attempted to analyze it earlier, with the help of Mother Moon’s gifts, but whatever this barrier is, I can’t seem to cut through it. We may have to consider evacuating the town after all.”

Shaerai furrows her brow as she hears it, displaying a similar – albeit not quite as fierce – determination that Javynna recognizes from her late wife.  
“And surrender Auberdine to these fiends? Never.”

The priestess wonders if her daughter is simply trying to fight and protect their homes, or if some pride might be muddying the waters. She briefly switches to Darnassian, just in case.  
“You don’t have to worry, you know. Veldarya would not disapprove of retreating in this situation.”

Shaerai stares at her for a few moments, before directing her eyes to the battlefield again.  
“I will not lose, mom.”

Javynna sighs, not sure how she should react, but this stubborn attitude is very reminiscent of Veldarya as well.  
Thankfully, at this very moment, they hear another familiar voice coming from the east.  
“Surrender isn’t necessary, as the necropolis can be destroyed.”

The trio turns around and spots four individuals that come running towards them – two of them are elves, accompanied by a raptor and another nightsaber. The priestess widens her eyes.  
“Rivaryn, Thariss, there you are! Thank Elune. I was so worried.”

Rax smiles and shifts her hammer into a sturdier grip.  
“Glad to see you could make it. Wondered if you would miss all the action.”

Thariss snorts.  
“We’ve had enough of it already, actually.”

The Battlemaster in the group ignores the greetings and instead focuses on the blood elf.  
“What did you say, Rivaryn? There’s a way to eliminate that thing?”, she asks and gestures at the necropolis.

Riv nods briefly.  
“Yeah. It may appear impenetrable, but it’s not. You see the portal at the bottom? That is its weak spot. It can’t keep both the portal and the barrier up at the same time, so once the portal is activated, the barrier isn’t. You have to target that location.”

The other three women all turn to view the flying construction once more, surveying the bottom of it. None of them had really considered this aspect, as no weakness is visible.  
“Hmm. That maneuver might be difficult to pull off from here. Not only would we need to alter our aim, we have to get a better angle. Our glaive throwers can lob projectiles from afar, but if we want to target the floor, we have to get closer. And, well…” She lowers her eyes to the battlefield, seeing the undead squads that keep pouring out. “That won’t exactly be an easy task.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got your back, Shae”, Thariss tells her older sister. “If you get some Sentinels to push those things, we’ll help you defend them.”

Rax approaches the rest of the group.  
“And you will have my aid as well.”

Shaerai glances between the three women, a hesitant scowl still remaining on her face and her ears twitches with doubt.  
“Your attitudes are commendable, but this will be dangerous. Are you absolutely certain this will work, Rivaryn?”

Riv inclines her head.  
“I am. We may have lost the war against the Scourge back in Quel’Thalas, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t cause some damage. I’ve seen it happen before.”

Thariss looks at her sister, holding a hand over the hilt of her blade, which is currently sheathed.  
“You’ve got a better idea?”

Taking a deep breath to consider her options, Shaerai soon has to emit it again, imbued with disappointment.  
“…no, I don’t.  
Fine, let’s do it then. But I’m not going to stand here and let others sacrifice themselves – I’m going with you.” She glances over her shoulder at another warrior. “Captain! I’m taking a few troops and these glaive throwers through the battlefield, so that we can blast that necropolis once and for all. You’re in charge while I’m gone.”

This woman views her with a lot of skepticism and has to pause for a few moments, before she salutes Shaerai.  
“Y…Yes, Battlemaster! Good luck.”

Javynna puts her hands on the shoulders of her two daughters, but views all four of the women that are leaving for this task.  
“Be careful out there. I will have my priests standing by, just in case."

Shaerai assigns six of her Sentinels to push three glaive throwers to the northeast, trying to at least proceed along the outskirts of their enemies’ movements. Except for Riv, Thariss and Rax, Shaerai also grabs four more Sentinels to help with defenses of the escort.  
To begin with, they are rather effective, and they wander through the darkness of the night undisturbed, somewhat hidden by shadows from the tall trees nearby. For a time, they almost believe that they’re going to get all the way to the necropolis without being seen, but they do not end up being so lucky.

After a couple of ghouls smell the alluring scent of living flesh to the side and attack the escort, more attention is soon drawn towards them and the Scourge become fully aware of what’s going on. Their tactics change and soon enough, the group is being assaulted from several angles, as the undead forces split their focus. They are certainly numerous enough to cause devastation on two sides, especially when one is so poorly defended.

The situation is starting to look very bleak when the glaive throwers can no longer move anywhere, due to the number of foes assaulting them and at least two Sentinels get grievously wounded.  
It comes almost a miracle then, when reinforcements arrive for the kaldorei. The clashing of weapons and the unnatural groans and hisses of the undead are interrupted by something ferocious in the sky – a roar.

Eyes are drawn upwards, trying to spot where this sound might’ve come from and an unusual sight reveals itself for them.  
A large blue drake comes flying at high speed over the field of death. It spreads its wings and opens its maw, unleashing a swirling arcane fire down on the undead forces close to the escort, creating a bit of breathing room for them. It doesn’t stop there either, as the drake comes back for several runs, not only distracting the undead, but also steadily reduces their numbers.

This is a startling vision, and some aren’t sure whether they’re dreaming or not. Rax looks especially astonished by it all.  
“Is that…?”

“No time to think about it now!”, yells Thariss. “C’mon, get these damn throwers rolling! We have a necropolis to destroy!”

“You heard my sister! Move it!”, Shaerai agrees.

With the assistance of their new flying ally, they continue. Together, the escort manages to cut a path through the Scourge’s defenses and eventually reach an appropriate location for their assault. Once the glaive throwers are in position, they only have to aim and fire, shooting several projectiles into the bottom of the necropolis. Just like Riv mentioned, it appears the structure is the least fortified in this spot and cracks are quickly created. The drake offers its fire to this effort as well, which widens the gap and eventually breaks it open. The portal gets the destroyed and the facility starts to fall apart, having to retreat.

Only a minute or so later, the defenders and the citizens can cheer in triumph as the necropolis crashes into the waters of the Veiled Sea.  
The Sentinels still have to fight for a few more minutes against the last of the undead, now aided by the escort and the drake from the opposite side, which produces too much of a disadvantage for the Scourge. They are without leadership and hope, being annihilated one by one.

When the last of the creatures are gone, the mercenary team can see how the drake gently drifts down towards them, flapping its wings to slow the fall. Upon landing, smoke starts to surround it and it changes shape. Once the dust settles, a quel’dorei appears before them. Her short azure blue hair, icy blue eyes and pale skin with a few traces of azure blue scales over her neck, arms and hands, are very familiar.

Nadelgosa gazes at them intently.  
“Rivaryn, Thariss”, she says and then pauses briefly. “…Raxeen. It has been a while. If you have time, I wish to speak with all of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Don't know if I specified this in the last story, but yeah, Nadelgosa is like, a pretty old-ish drake. She's on the cusp of being a full dragon._   
>  _I'm not sure how old drakes have to be before they're considered adults, but I imagine she's somewhere close to a millennium. Similar to Aruunel, actually._
> 
> _The phrases I used for the draenei language was half-canon, half-made up. The first section means "Light, give me strength", while the second part was likely something along the lines of "Aid me with destroying these foul beings" or whatever._   
>  _"Man'elar" doesn't actually exist as an official word, but as Man'ari is loosely translated to "unnatural beings" and is used for anything that is corrupted, I felt like I could use that as a base._


	10. Predicted assumptions

The eerie tranquility has returned to the Eastern Plaguelands. The signs of battle have far from been washed away completely, due to how many troops fell during the struggle – the vast majority of them being undead – but at least no more unnatural groans or growls can be heard in the immediate vicinity.  
Once they managed to gather up all their belongings and led the hawkstriders to a safer location, the Argent Crusade set up a camp together with the sin’dorei survivors, prepared a few fires and began licking their wounds. One of the fires, in the outskirts, is currently dedicated to sanctifying and burning the corpses.

Instead of making two camps, the sin’dorei caravan members allowed themselves to be taken into the care of the crusaders, which seemed to be a good solution according to their mage. As the caravan leader is gone, everyone else has chosen to follow Kassari. Due to her position as Arcanist, everyone practically expects leadership from her anyhow.  
The crusaders are numerous, friendly and ready to help. Not only do they offer rations as replacement for some of the food that the civilians lost, they also help heal any injured and repair the broken wagons. The few hawkstriders that died cannot be replaced, but they should still have enough to proceed later on, once they believe they’re ready.

During this process, the blood elves have also chosen to sit down and speak with their saviors, seeming very impressed by the crusaders’ prowess. They’re intrigued by the diverse nature of the group and to hear what brought everyone to this accursed land. There’s no hesitation when the elves promise that they’re going to bring news to other regions about this noble act. Everyone should know that the Plaguelands are now slightly less perilous than before, with the Crusade nearby.

While they focus on this aspect, Ashindra has remained somewhat separated. For the most part, she is thankful for the help they gain, but not interested in speaking to just any person regarding their deeds. Instead, she’d like to know more about the structure of the organization, where this Crusade came from.  
She can’t deny the anxiety building within her. She was very impressed with their saviors and her curiosity is soaring, but she doesn’t want to get too excited or overwhelmed by what they just experienced. Maybe these people are not all that they appear to be.

As her eyes sweep across the many members of this organization who are present, she spots several humans among them. She still remembers what some of that race did to her people just a few years ago, how large sections of their survivors were simply discarded by the humans. It’s difficult to forget the prejudice they faced, even if not all humans were to blame. After all, it is why Quel’Thalas withdrew from the Alliance to begin with.

Then again, things have changed. The sin’dorei no longer care for Kael’thas or his followers, especially after his betrayal and downfall. The elves and the Horde were not the only groups trying to stop the Prince’s delusional plan of consuming the Sunwell and summoning Kil’jaeden – members of the Alliance were there too, and they struggled just as hard to achieve victory. In the end, they even left the elves to supervise their own lands once more, without too much protests. Perhaps it’s time to move on.

Besides, the human that she currently has her eyes on is not even with the Alliance, but a neutral faction. It was…refreshing to fight with her on the battlefield.  
Trying to accept the aspect of being a new woman, Ash takes a deep breath and then approaches the individual known as Melia. The officer is currently standing next to several other crusaders, while they discuss the Scourge and what they’ve seen here.

Ash stops a few meters away and then clears her throat. Due to the large party surrounding Melia, Ash gets quite a few eyes gazing in her direction, which makes her somewhat nervous.  
“Lady Haven, was it?”

Melia arches her brow skeptically.  
“Lady?” Shortly after, she chuckles. “Uh, I think that’s too formal for me. I’m not even a noble.  
Just ‘Melia’ or ‘Lieutenant’ is fine.”

“Oh, right. Of course”, she says awkwardly. Ash fidgets with her hands for a moment, before she decides to simply put them behind her for the time being.  
“Well, Lieutenant, may I speak with you for a moment? I wish to ask you some questions regarding your organization.”

“Sure, what do you wanna know?”

Ash opens her mouth, but then glances around, seeing the other troops still staring at her. It makes her repeat the act of clearing her throat.  
“I…uh, wonder if I might pose them to you in private?”

Melia blinks a few times and then observes those surrounding her, before she smiles and shrugs.  
“Very well. Crusaders, set up a patrol around the perimeter. We’ll probably be staying here for the night.”

The other troops salute her.  
“Yes, Lieutenant”, the dwarf among them confirms and the group departs.

Afterwards, Melia raises her hand and gestures for Ash to follow.  
“Let’s go for a walk.”

Together, the duo wanders around the outskirts of the camp, away from prying eyes and ears, but still not far enough to be out of sight completely.  
This area still has the stench of death and decay in thick layers, but Ash soon comes to realize that something pleasant slips in between them. She thinks that she can detect the refreshing scent of peaceblooms, which doesn’t really make sense out here. Is the priestess wearing a perfume of some sort?

While she ponders this aspect, she forgets that they’re supposed to be having a conversation and it gets rather awkwardly quiet for a minute or two.  
“So…you had questions?”, Melia asks eventually.

Ash’s eyes quickly divert towards the human, in mild surprise.  
“Huh? Oh, right. Yes, of course. Sorry, I…”  
She exhales, being annoyed with herself.  
“It’s been a while since I…spoke to any humans.”

Melia watches Ash’s expression for a few moments, curiosity and understanding seemingly running through her. She displays a knowing smile.  
“It’s alright, I get it. Some of my people didn’t act very kindly to yours a few years ago. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Yeah, it’s-…yeah.  
Please, excuse my behavior. It’s not fair to punish you all collectively for it.”

“Like I said, it’s fine.”

Hearing how Melia doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable or at least not outraged by Ash’s reaction, the paladin takes another deep breath and then tries to proceed, to temporarily forget this issues.  
“What you and your forces did out there was commendable. I almost thought we were lost there for a while, but you saved us, performing a selfless act that I hadn’t expected. I wish to thank you again.”

Melia’s smile grows, but this time with a more joyful element. She shrugs casually.  
“That’s not necessary. We’ve been thanked enough already.  
Besides, it’s not like your people didn’t fight too. You’ve got some skills, Revenor; I was impressed.”

Ash looks into the other woman’s eyes, trying to detect notions of deception or mockery, but spots none. She must’ve been genuine with her praise. Ash inclines her head.  
“Thank you. As do you.”

“I do try my best. I pray to the Light every morning and evening, to give me strength.”

“From what I saw, it seems that it listens to your call.”  
She turns her gaze back to the camp, to the many crusaders guarding her own people.  
“I hadn’t expected such a diverse group either. You called yourself the…’Argent Crusade’, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Does it have anything to do with the Argent Dawn?”

Melia nods quickly and then folds her arms.  
“It does, actually. Our organization was created very recently, through a merge of the Argent Dawn and the paladin Order known as the ‘Knights of the Silver Hand’. That’s why we have so many of your particular talents already.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard the name before. Isn’t that a human organization?”

“Well, Alliance, to be specific. They’ve got a bunch of dwarves and a few elves too.  
We were brought together after the Scourge assaulted our main outpost to the east, Light’s Hope Chapel. It’s been our headquarters for a while already, but we now display Crusade banners instead.  
We’re led by Highlord Tirion Fordring, another paladin. He’s the new Ashbringer.”

Ash widens her eyes somewhat.  
“Ashbringer? Hmm. But…I thought that blade was destroyed.”

Melia shakes her head, to dismiss such ideas.  
“Not exactly. It was corrupted by the Scourge a few years ago. Then again, many thought that meant it was lost anyhow and could never be returned.  
Luckily, the righteous power beneath our chapel renewed its strength in the Light and it chose Fordring as its new wielder.”

Beneath the Chapel? Ash can’t recall anything extraordinary from it in the past. Maybe it has changed.  
“Huh. That’s interesting and unexpected.  
What are the Crusade’s goals? Are they the same as the Argent Dawn?”

“Yes and no. Our purpose is simple and remains the same – to fight the Scourge, the Burning Legion and other threats to Azeroth, so that we may protect all of its people. The difference between the Crusade and the Dawn is that we have now changed to more offensive means, to no longer stay put in one area. We aim to expand.  
We’re still doing our best to secure the regions around the Plaguelands, but our ultimate goal is far more ambitious – we aim to travel to Northrend and stop the Lich King once and for all.”

Now that is not only ambitious and interesting, but something which Ash immediately recognizes that she has a stake in too. Not only did her people suffer under the Scourge’s invasion, but Arthas’ cruelty specifically. Or whatever that monster calls himself now.  
“Do you really think that can be accomplished?”

“Well, I can’t say it’ll be easy, but we do have more hope now than ever. A lot more people are joining us all the time, as the name of the Crusade is drawing attention.”

Ash survey’s the crusaders once more, seeing so many different individuals gathered under one symbol, more than she has ever done in any army that she has been part of.  
“Do you have people from all races of Azeroth?”

“No, not quite, but we do have members from each of those who are involved with the Horde and Alliance.”  
Her eyes turn a little bit distant when she continues.  
“Many of those who join us have suffered in some way, having lost friends and loved ones to the Scourge. Others simply believe that this is the right thing to do or that the Scourge is the greatest threat to this world at this time, and the other factions aren’t doing enough to combat it. That’s why they come to us.”

“So, after you’ve defeated the Scourge, you’ll disband?”

Melia sighs and shrugs.  
“To be honest, I don’t know. I hope not, as I believe Azeroth needs an organization like ours, but ultimately, it’s unclear how long we’ll last if we do succeed. Right now, we’re not bothered with the future anyhow, as the road ahead is much more difficult.  
We do have some general support from the Alliance and Horde, though, especially after recent attacks. Whatever they choose, we will proceed regardless.”

Ash suddenly stops in her tracks and furrows her brow.  
“Hold on. Recent attacks?”

“Yeah, haven’t you heard? Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Teldrassil, the Undercity – several cities have been attacked by waves of Scourge troops. It wasn’t enough to succeed, but every report suggests that this is just an initial tactic, a process to a greater invasion. That’s why we’ve decided to launch our own assault on Northrend and stop the undead before it gets worse.”

Very little news has arrived in Silvermoon, last she heard. Either Orgrimmar didn’t have a chance to tell them or they didn’t want to. Then again, is Quel’Thalas even of interest to the Scourge? Can they even penetrate it, now that the Sunwell has been resurrected?  
While she considers these aspects, she also returns to a name that was mentioned previously.  
“Hmm. Light’s Hope Chapel…I believe I’ve visited that place before. Back then, it wasn’t much more than what the name suggests. Pretty small and insignificant, really. It was simply one of the locations that those of us from the church in Quel’Thalas went past on our regular journeys through these lands.”

Melia’s smile returns.  
“Yeah, I remember. It is true that the chapel hasn’t exactly grown much, but it’s on the way. The Crusade is building it into something greater, with fortifications that can last against the Scourge.”

Ash turns towards her, surveying the human.  
“It’s been a while since my last visit. Do you think there’s room for one more person on your trip back?”

If she had simply been glad for the interest before, Melia now looks far more intrigued.  
“Oh, sure, if you want to. What about your comrades, though?”

Ash gives herself a few seconds to decide on an appropriate answer. The truth is already pretty blatant to her.  
“They…don’t need me.”

Eventually, the duo ends their solitary stroll and returns to the rest of the group. Ash takes Melia with her all the way up towards Kass and Khroga, who are currently sitting with some of the other elves around a campfire.  
“Oh, there you are, Ash. Want some food?”

Ash lifts a hand and scratches her neck.  
“Uh, yeah, sure. But…I thought I should tell you that, when you leave, you should proceed to the Undercity without me.”

Kass blinks confusedly in response.  
“What? Why? Where are you going?”

Instinctively, the paladin’s gaze is drawn back towards Melia.  
“To explore what the Light has to offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you've played the game, or the Wotlk expansion specifically, you probably know about the Argent Crusade already, but I think I've said before that I enjoy letting my characters discuss this information on their own and describe their versions or opinions on the matter._


	11. Tentative blues

The battle at the coast of Darkshore, close to Auberdine, has ended. Whether any more are waiting in the nearby future is hard to tell, but the kaldorei have done their best to prepare for such eventualities.  
Another activity that has to be dealt with is the cleanup effort, a task that hasn’t actually been as easy to solve as they may have hoped. They have some experience with erasing demonic energy, but this is a little bit different.

While the Sentinels were initially quite happy to simply burn the bodies and begin cleansing the earth, to remove the undead taint, Rivaryn offered them a warning. She informed the kaldorei forces, through Shaerai, that leaving a necropolis in the sea where it crashed is probably not a great solution in the long run. Foul magic will seep out of it, which is why she recommended that they find some way to fish it out and dispose of the remains elsewhere. This is why several ships have been dispatched and are doing their best to deal with this very situation.

In the meantime, the mercenaries and potential ‘heroes’ of the battle, are once more back in the Dusksong home. They’re currently getting ready to speak with their new guest, one that has been met with an ambiguous welcoming.  
For the time being, it’s only the four of them sitting inside the living room and it is quite awkward, to say the last. Nadelgosa is looking rather guilty, with her ears bent back somewhat, while Raxeen glares at her. Riv and Thariss sit on one sofa, with Nadel in the opposite one, but Rax has taken a solo armchair, somewhat off to the side. She sits with her arms folded.

Eventually, Thariss clears her throat, hoping to break the silence.  
“So, uh…it’s pretty weird seeing you again, Nadelgosa. Kinda came out of nowhere.”

“Indeed”, Riv agrees, “though we’re obviously grateful for your assistance. Not sure we could’ve won that fight without you.”

The drake puts her hands in her lap and slowly shakes her head.  
“There is no need to thank me. I simply did what was necessary.”

Rax furrows her brow, with her hands clenching somewhat.  
“Ah, I believe I have heard a similar line before. You did ‘what was necessary’ during our last encounter as well.”

Her voice drips with an accusatory tone, of irritation. The others go quiet again and Nadel looks both unsure and uncomfortable, trying to figure out where to begin. She likely never believed they’d have to see each other again. Not like this.  
“Look, Raxeen, I…I’m sorry, okay? What I did was-…I never meant to-“

She’s interrupted by the draenei before she can continue her explanation.  
“Sorry? That is it? You attempted to wipe my memory, potentially give me permanent mental damage, and you believe a simple apology is enough?”

Nadel stops for a few moments, reluctantly trying to work on a statement that may sound better. It's not easy, as she's not used to apologizing.  
“I assure you, this is genuine.”

“I do not care if it is or not. If you were in my seat, would you accept nothing more than words and empty promises?”

“I…no, perhaps not”, she agrees cautiously. “But why do you believe it’s empty? I flew all the way out here and aided you in battle.”

“Yes, for which I assume you have a purpose. You would not have come here out of the goodness of your heart.”

The guilt reappears, perhaps even descending into levels of shame, especially due to how dismissive Rax’s tone sounds. She does have a point, though.  
Riv sighs and raises her hands, hoping to get their attention.  
“Hey, let’s calm down, alright? I realize your last encounter was uh…difficult, but isn’t that all the more reason to talk about it?”

Finally, Rax tears her eyes away from the drake and stares at her friend instead. The skepticism does not disperse.  
“That is easy for you to say. You were not the one she targeted.”

“Yes, that’s true, but don’t assume this means I’m okay with it. We’re not simply going to leave this issue behind us, because we _are_ gonna make her answer for it, but are you not even a little bit curious about why she’s here?  
Just listening to her isn’t too much to ask, is it? She did something wrong before, but by helping us, she has proved that she’s willing to make it right.”

In the trio, it tends to be Thariss who acts as the unreasonable or the skeptical member, usually because she likes to get into trouble. Rax’s concerns aren’t unjustified, but it’s somewhat unusual that they have to resolve tension between her and another person, where Rax is the angry party. At least Riv takes the role of the diplomat again.  
Rax appears fairly dissatisfied and sighs, but her resistance loosens up.

“Fine, I will listen, but I shall not promise to agree to anything.”

Riv gives her a small smile.  
“No one said you have to.”

Thariss shakes her head and snorts.  
“Wow, this is awkward.”

“And such comments aren’t necessary, dear. Let’s all try to get along, alright?”  
She redirects her eyes towards Nadel.  
“So, my lady, you have anything to say?”

Nadel clears her throat and tries to correct her position. She fidgets a bit, but eventually decides to cross her legs and place her hands over them.  
“Well, first of all, I wish to thank you for giving me a chance.” She turns her eyes specifically to Rax. “I appreciate it and I promise that this will be worth your time.”

Rax rolls her own eyes.  
“We shall see.”

“At any rate, I assume by now that you’ve heard of the magical distortions and disruptions in the arcane network, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda been impossible to avoid”, Thariss admits. “We received a few reports from Darnassus and other sections of the Alliance about this. People believe something is going on.”

Nadel briefly bites at her lip, her gaze being diverted to the ground.  
“Yes, something is definitely wrong, and I have the answer for it. My dragonflight, the blue dragons, are responsible. To be more specific, the source of your problems is our leader, Malygos. He is the one that has caused this entire scenario.”

The three women react somewhat differently. While Thariss mostly looks curious, both Riv and Rax are confused, albeit not for the same reasons.  
“Because of one dragon?”, Rax asks. “How is that possible?”

“You misunderstand. Malygos is not a simple dragon, but one of the Dragon Aspects.  
Millennia ago, the Titans offered powers to my people, to become the guardians and overseers of this world. They sent abilities into five individuals, which would help with these tasks – Alexstrasza, Nozdormu, Neltharion, Ysera and Malygos. The leader of my dragonflight is known as the Spell-Weaver and was granted immense power over the magical leylines of Azeroth. It was meant to help him supervise arcane usage and protect people from its dangers.  
Sadly, during the War of the Ancients, Neltharion turned against the others and in the battle to defeat him and the demonic forces, my flight was almost completely destroyed. Malygos took much of the blame and went into semi-hibernation for millennia, being caught in a state of crippling depression.”

Thariss nods slowly, as old memories reappear.  
“I’ve heard the stories. My mothers used to talk about it, how they for a long time believed that blue dragons had died out.”

Some of the guilt on Nadel has dissolved, but it is replaced with a somber and gloomy tone instead.  
“I know. Many of the other dragons assumed the same thing, but we remained and eventually rebuilt. Perhaps not to the same extent as in the past, but…we are still alive. During that time, we have tried our best to maintain the work that the Titans gave our kind, to watch over this world’s magical development.  
A recent event has altered our path – Malygos has awakened.”

Thariss raises a hand to scratch her cheek.  
“Huh. Didn’t expect that. What changed?”

“That is…a difficult story, with many interpretations, but one for another time.  
The most crucial aspect for you and your people is that he awoke with a new purpose. For a long time, he has ignored what mortals have been doing on Azeroth and when he finally began to examine your actions, he concluded that you have been carelessly misusing the arcane gifts. He couldn’t let that stand.”

Riv looks a bit confused.  
“Misusing? How?”

“I believe he may have misinterpreted the acts of the Burning Legion, the Horde invasion, the Lich King and more unfortunate conflicts, as the fault of all mortals.”

“Hold on”, says Thariss. “He blames us for that shit? It’s not like we asked for that to happen!”

“I know, I know, and I’m not saying you were. I am simply trying to explain where Malygos is coming from.  
Anyhow, he summoned many of the older and most powerful blue dragons who have survived through the ages and asked them to join in a council. There, he relayed the information that they would be modifying and changing the energy of the leylines, to take control back from mortals. Afterwards, your people would either have to give in to his demands of how to use magic from now on or lose your connection to the arcane altogether.”

The trio lets that sink in, feeling that it’s definitely not a negotiation. Sounds to them like the arcane would become something for only those that Malygos can accept.  
“That is…quite extreme, yeah. I can’t believe that anyone here would take that well.”

“And they haven’t. The news hasn’t reached everyone, but it did get to Dalaran and the Kirin Tor. Their Council of Six immediately rejected the notion, of course, but not every mage did. There are those who saw it as more useful to align with Malygos, which is why his faction has been joined by rogue mages.”

Riv interrupts her by raising a hand.  
“Wait. ‘Faction’? You’re making it sound like not everyone is on his side.”

Nadel nods briefly.  
“It’s true, not all of us agree with him.”

At the same time, Rax looks rather skeptical.  
“But why are you telling us all of this? You do not honestly expect the three of us to strike down one of these Dragon Aspects, are you?”

“No, no, of course not. The reason I’m here is to ask for your help with related matter.  
Members of my family were involved with the deliberations and most of them were not very keen on Malygos’ ideas. My older brother – Deradgos, a full dragon – was very openly opposed to those suggestions. He thought it was pure delusion and a misuse of our powers.”

“Hey, he’s got a point”, says Thariss. “Think I like this brother of yours.”

A bit of sorrow washes over Nadel.  
“Well, sadly, anyone who resisted Malygos’ commands at the meeting were arrested and imprisoned. They are now locked up in underground lairs at Coldarra. This included my brother.”

This is obviously grave news, although Thariss and Riv seems to understand the ramifications better than Rax.  
“A Dragon Aspect would do this to his own flight?”, Riv asks. “My people also have stories about the aspects, but most describe them as noble and wise, not tyrannical.”

Nadel shuts her eyes and sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping.  
“Indeed, that’s how we view Malygos as well. He is like a father to many of us, even those who aren’t directly related. Deradgos was there to represent our grandfather, Senegos, and my family was horrified to hear of what happened.  
Many of them have been hesitant about how to react, hoping that negotiations with Malygos will be enough, to show that we don’t wish to fight him. I disagree.”

“Well, as one drake, I do not suppose it is easy to start a rebellion”, Rax comments.

“I don’t care”, says Nadel, her voice growing a bit more determined. “I refuse to leave my brother to rot in a cell somewhere, when we have no idea what his captors might do. He’s a ‘traitor’ now, apparently, and they might hurt him. I won’t allow that.  
Malygos is clearly not well and acting like this against his own people is not why the Titans gave him his gifts. I must rescue my brother, but…well, I can’t do it alone.”

Riv leans back in the sofa and crosses her arms.  
“And that’s why you came to us.”

Nadel’s expression and demeanor is quickly regaining the humbler streak. She knows this won’t be easy.  
“Yes. I…have to admit that I need your help. Erm, again. I know how to speak to my people and my own powers are not unsubstantial but…I will likely be outnumbered.”  
She turns her eyes towards them, surveying all three, one at a time.  
“During our first encounter, you proved that you can fight, that your abilities and tactics are above mere grunts. While I do not aim to start any fights with my flight, hostilities may be unavoidable. You are outsiders, but you are the only mortals I trust.”

This comment immediately gets a retort from Rax, who frowns.  
“Oh, you trust us now, do you?”

Nadel hesitates again, shrinking somewhat in her seat, while Riv sighs.  
“Raxeen…”

Rax spreads her arms and directs herself towards the blood elf.  
“I do not think I am being unreasonable here. She did not trust me before and I do not see why she would suddenly change her mind.”

Unfortunately, she does have a point, and neither of the two elves have much to respond with. The only one who can disprove it is Nadel herself.  
Suddenly, the drake stands up and looks straight at the paladin.  
“Raxeen, listen to me. I…know that what I did before was wrong. It was hasty, stupid and unfair. I wish I could take it back, but I cannot. It’s done, and I have to live with the consequences.  
This scenario is different. One of my people, my _family_ , needs me. I beg you to give me another chance and help me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

She has regained some determination, but one laced with urgency.  
Riv and Thariss glance at each other, trying to survey their emotions and they mostly seem to be on the same page.  
“Well, uh…”, Thariss starts, “we’re both okay with it. I mean, we’re willing to help, but we’re also not the only members of this group.”

Hesitation and doubt is still blatant on Rax as she views the drake, likely assuming that Nadel isn’t being fully honest. They can’t really blame her for it either.  
“A paladin does not usually turn down those in need, but…I do not enjoy the prospect of being betrayed later on. Again.”

Nadel takes a deep breath and then decides to approach Rax directly. She gets down on her knees and looks up into Rax’s white eyes.  
“I will do everything I can to undo that act, Raxeen. If you wish to punish me later, I will give you that chance. All I ask is that you help me save my brother. Please.”

Rax stares at the drake, looking into those icy blue eyes and listens to the voice. The sincerity is there, that much can’t be denied, but Rax is still cautious. Dragons remain an anomaly to her and first impressions are everything. However…  
“I…am willing to come with you and investigate the matter, to look into these claims. The arcane is important to my people as well and if I can help in some way to solve it, I will do my best.”

Both Riv and Thariss smile as they hear it. Nadel, however, is much more relieved, something she shows by taking Rax’s hands and kissing the back of both. Rax is quite surprised by this, but doesn’t oppose it.  
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You will not regret this, I swear.”

It’s somewhat awkwardly silent for a second or two after this, but Thariss is the one to refocus their efforts.  
“So, where do we have to go, exactly?”

Nadel stands up again and looks at the elves.  
“Northrend.”

“…what? Northrend? But how the hell are we supposed to get up there in time? We don’t have a ship.”

“You won’t need one. Don’t worry, I have an ally who will assist me in getting us there. You’ll have to come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I guess the roles are a little bit reversed here, compared to their last encounter in The Promised Land. Raxeen was obviously the more upset party, which I felt was reasonable. I mean, what Nadelgosa attempted to do wasn't minor._   
>  _At the same time, Nadel feels kinda awkward here, since she needs them and realizes that she has to make amends. Solving this situation is one of the main elements of this story._


	12. Light's counsel

The journey towards the easternmost section of the plaguelands is not a particularly lengthy one, no more than a day or two. For Ashindra, it is a strange experience, as she constantly compares it to the trips she used to make with the faithful elves in service of Quel’Thalas’ church. This was when this forest was filled with life and greenery. Sure, it wasn’t always completely safe, as wild animals or even bandits could potentially threaten them, but all of that is gone now. It is like she’s walking through nature’s forgotten graveyard.

Thankfully, a break is achieved in all this gloom and doom, once they arrive at their destination.  
Light’s Hope Chapel is, in many ways, similar to what it once was. It is a humble building in grey stone with a red roof and only one tower at the front, placed at the foot of a small mountain range. It is strange for her to come here as a new woman, one who no longer holds the same ideals as the old Ashindra did. Perhaps she can regain that somewhere down the line.

Looking around the area, it’s clear that not everything is the same, though. There are smaller buildings erected close to the hill where the Chapel is standing, along with a whole range of tents, work stations and barricades. Scaffolding has been put up in certain locations, where fortifications and defenses against the Scourge are currently being constructed. There are those who build weapons, armors, fix resources or decorations too. The entire region wears the banners with the gold, black and grey symbol, the mark of the Argent Crusade. To Ash, this proves what a big and united effort the Crusade has already become.

It appears that Ash is not the only newcomer or visitor either. Many more people, without tabards or other items that signify their allegiance, are walking around. They inspect the territory or seek guidance from any of the crusaders. They wish to train or learn more of what needs to be done in order to fight the Scourge.  
Ash can see members from all races of the Alliance and Horde, which is fascinating. What surprises her the most is probably the fact that she can spot a few quel’dorei among them as well, visible through the blue eyes. Before coming to Outland, she wasn’t sure any of them still existed, but this is the first time in ages that she actually encounters one.

While the rest of Melia’s troops wander off to the barracks, the Lieutenant herself stops next to the paladin. Ash takes a deep breath, to absorb the moment, before she turns to the priestess.  
“You weren’t kidding.”

Melia smiles and arches an amused brow.  
“You assumed I’d be messing with you?”

“Not exactly, but I never thought anything like this was possible. The conflict between the Horde and Alliance is…an extensive and complicated one.”

“True, but not endless.”

Ash slowly spins around again, in order to not just view their surroundings, but also gesture at them.  
“Your words were encouraging, but seeing all this actually makes me believe that you accept anyone who wishes to fight for the Light, no matter where they come from.”

Melia nods in agreement to begin with, but then decides to lift her hand and shake her finger slightly.  
“It’s not just followers of the Light, actually. We have druids, worshippers of Elune and the Loa, the elements and many more.  
While we, as a group, represent the Light, the fight against the Scourge is for everyone. After their attack on the Chapel, it drew a lot of attention, especially with our success. Uniting people from all origins of Azeroth is an ideal that the Crusade took from the Argent Dawn.”

If she considers this aspect, Ash is both amazed and bewildered. Is there anyone who has ever been able unite believers of all kinds?  
“You mentioned this assault a couple of days ago. What was that about?”

Melia gestures for her to follow and the duo starts a small and slow journey along the outskirts of the Chapel grounds. Here and there, the occasional crusader waves or salutes at Melia.  
“I’m a little surprised you haven’t heard about it. It was pretty big news for a lot of folks.  
But anyway, a few months back, the Lich King was leading a new strike force in the region, which mostly focused on the Scarlet Crusade’s outposts and towns nearby. He flew here on a big necropolis, one called Acherus.”

“There was another necropolis here? I heard about that first one, the uh…”

“Naxxramas. Yes, that one was a bit more of a fortress, the base of his second-in-command, Kel’Thuzad. Acherus was…a training facility. It was where he crafted a new army of Death Knights.”

The term makes Ash frown. She has heard it before, as it was what Arthas had called himself.  
“A whole army of them? That doesn’t sound good.”

Melia slowly shakes her head.  
“It wasn’t; not for us and definitely not for the Scarlets. He attacked them first and destroyed their homes without mercy. This action didn’t just give him more troops for his undead forces, but also made his new Knights stronger.  
Eventually, they were brought towards their real goal – Light’s Hope Chapel and the Argent Dawn. We assumed, both now and back then, that he saw us as the real threat.”

Ash crosses her arms and raises one of her long eyebrows.  
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but…I find that peculiar. What’s so special about the Chapel? It’s not exactly a fortress, nor has it ever been particularly impressive. No offense.”

The human turns her head and smiles somewhat mysteriously at her companion.  
“I’ll get to that, Revenor.  
At any rate, their forces were humongous, several thousands of walking corpses of all kinds. Naturally, they were led by elite death knight troops, ones that had been forged in the fires of conflict against the Scarlets. The Dawn only had a few hundred defenders.”

Ash considers the scenario, the contrast between the two sides. It makes her snort amusedly.  
“You know, this kind of sounds like one of those tall tales you used to hear from soldiers in the taverns of Stratholme, after they came back from fighting in the Second War.”

It appears that Melia is familiar with the idea, which is why she tilts her head back and lets out a hearty laughter. The sound makes Ash’s ears twitch slightly, as she finds it quite pleasant.  
Melia raise her hand and pats the paladin’s shoulder.  
“It’s been a while since I thought about anything like that. I get what you mean, but I’m not trying to brag. Not that much, at least.”

“If you say so”, Ash replies, with some underlying mirth.

“Anyhow, the Scourge battered themselves against us, but in the end, they failed. They used a tremendous amount of strength, but it wasn’t enough. Not because our troops were better, but because the Light protected us.  
Unfortunately, the Lich King wasn’t really after the defeat of the Dawn, but the death of Tirion Fordring. The paladin rode here together with some of the remnants of the Silver Hand, to help out.  
Luckily, with the power of the Chapel, the Ashbringer was cleansed and Fordring claimed it, which ended Arthas’ attempt. He was forced to retreat.”

There’s still some boasting involved in the process, but Ash doesn’t find it unbelievable. The power of the Light can be immense, if used correctly, to shatter even the darkest shadows.  
Despite the uplifting tale, a wind of solemnity still blows across Ash’s features.  
“That’s definitely an impressive feat for the Dawn as an organization. Quel’Thalas attempted the same thing, but…well, I guess you know how that ended.”

Melia’s joy temporarily disperses as well, and she exhales from her nose.  
“Yeah. Lordaeron met the same fate.”

Suddenly, Ash feels stupid. She did it again, didn’t she? Destroyed the mood and got both of them thinking of unnecessary grief. She enjoys seeing Melia’s smile and perhaps shouldn’t try so hard to erase its existence.  
“Erm, were you part of the Argent Dawn previously?”

Melia corrects some of her hair that flutter around in the wind and inclines her head.  
“Mhm, I was.”

“I don’t know much about it, other than the name. Where did it come from?”

The priestess diverts her eyes to the road ahead.  
“Well, that’s not an all too distant tale either. Originally, the members that later founded the organization were followers of the first Ashbringer, Alexandros Mograine. I think this was somewhere after the Second War. They fought with him against the Scourge as well, once it arrived.  
When he fell, many of his supporters wished to keep the crusade going, but it gradually became more zealous. Some didn’t agree and split from the main group, to establish the Argent Dawn. The others named themselves the Scarlet Crusade.”

“Ah. I’ve heard about the latter group too. Their methods sound…severe.”

Melia snorts and shakes her head.  
“To say the least, yeah. Not only were and are they more zealous than us, but they restrict their recruitment policy to humans. There were some quel’dorei and dwarves to begin with, but that changed. The Dawn opened its doors to any races of Azeroth that wished to fight the Scourge. At the time, interest was unfortunately limited, as not everyone wanted to come to Lordaeron after its destruction.  
Due to our lack of numbers, we were forced to cooperate with the Scarlet Crusade for a time, hence why we lived so close together. With the help of the Horde and Alliance, we stopped Naxxramas’ schemes and decreased the plaguelands’ spread. As you might imagine, it was quite a momentous effort.”

Sounds like Ash missed a lot of events, while her people were recuperating behind the crumbling walls of Quel’Thalas. She knew that some left to fight anyhow, but she didn’t really care for the ideas of helping out with conflicts here. The homeland was more important.  
During the course of the story, Ash’s eyes are drawn to the Chapel once more.  
“What’s with all the interest for this place, though? Why is it so important? I can’t see or feel anything special with it.”

She doesn’t notice, but Melia watches her rather intently, being intrigued by the question. The priestess leans closer and lowers her voice.  
“That’s because you can’t sense it from a distance. You’re gonna have to get closer. C’mon, follow me.”

Being too curious to decline, Ash goes with her and together, they enter the Chapel. Interestingly enough, the interior is similar but not the same as the structure she once knew. It has clearly been renovated in recent years.  
The benches and small prayer booths at the side still remain, with the stage at the back, for the bishop or priest that holds sermons for the faithful. Cozy, but not exactly unique in any way.

Her doubt lasts for no more than a few seconds, however. Suddenly, from within, she senses something entering her chest. It’s like a gentle breeze, a warm caress and a soft embrace all at the same time, forcing the paladin to take a deep breath as to not be overwhelmed.  
“W-what’s going?”, she asks in a whisper. “It feels like…like I’m standing outside the Sunwell. But how can that be? I know the Light is powerful, but I’ve rarely sensed anything with this strength.”

She turns to Melia for answers and the human smiles at her, glad to see her reaction.  
“It’s because of what rests beneath the Chapel. We’re standing on holy ground, Revenor.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s true, but what’s causing it? It can’t just appear out of nowhere.”

Melia bites her lip, almost excitedly, as she considers another aspect.  
“Hmm. We’re...not actually supposed to discuss it with outsiders, but…if you want, I can ask them to show us.”

“I’d like that, if you don’t mind.”

The duo walks further into the building, and in the center, there are several people. Most of them are discussing various subjects in different groups, but Melia walks past them all, towards a set of individuals who seemingly just stand around in the back as guards.  
One of them is a Forsaken. His hide is rotten and decayed, with a strange grey hue and his eyes glow in an unnerving yellow color, but he still manages to operate like everyone else, though his body is somewhat hunched. He even wears the tabard of the Crusade.

“Hey, Donlan”, Melia says as she waves and smiles at him.

The undead nods politely at her.  
“Lieutenant Haven. Good to see you.” His voice is quite raspy.

“Everything alright in here?”

He glances around the room briefly and then shrugs.  
“As good as ever, I suppose. Why?”

Melia clears her throat.  
“Well, I uh, was wondering if you could let us inside.”

Donlan watches her with an expression that Ash can’t really read, not until he turns towards her. That’s when he shows clear signs of skepticism.  
“We’re not supposed to let outsiders in.”

“I know, I know, but this is important.”  
She gestures at Ash.  
“This is Ashindra of the Blood Knights, a true believer. She has come here to take a closer look at the Chapel and to understand the power of the Light. I believe showing her the truth of this land can help sway her to our cause. She might be able to recruit others in the future.”

This is, of course, overly theatrical, but he doesn’t have to know that. Donlan remains skeptical for several more seconds as he glances between the two, but it appears Melia’s eager plea manages to defeat it in the end and he shrugs.  
“Alright, alright. Just don’t make a mess down there, okay?”

“Tsk, when am I ever messy?”

He allows them to walk around him and Melia shows Ash to a section at the opposite wall, where she pulls at a torch holder. Suddenly, a hatch slides open in the floor, revealing a set of stairs.  
As they descend together, the pervading presence of the Light steadily increases, to the point where Ash eventually feels rejuvenated, strengthened by the spiritual ambience. A few seconds later, she has to lean against the wall, as she becomes somewhat light-headed.

The only reason she regains her senses is because Melia takes one of her hands.  
“You okay?”

Ash clears her throat and shakes her head to brush the faintness away.  
“Y…yeah, I think so. It’s just a bit…”

“Overpowering?”, Melia asks with a smile. “I know. Some people have said the same. You can lean against me, if you need to.”

Thankfully, Ash can proceed on her own two feet for now, but she does maintain the grip around Melia’s hand.  
Here, in the underground lairs beneath the Chapel, they see a much larger area. It’s filled with neatly constructed corridors and rooms, stacked with weapons, book shelves, artifacts and more. They see quite a few people down here too, most of them wearing Crusade symbols, but there appears to be some old Dawn items lying around as well.

Deeper into the halls is perhaps the largest section of all, stacked with rows of what appears to be tombs and attached plaques.  
“This is the Sanctum of Light, the source of the aura you’re sensing. Here, we have exhumed and blessed the remains of powerful heroes from Lordaeron, Khaz Modan, Quel’Thalas and other believers in the Light. It is so strong here, its presence so robust, that they cannot be raised in the service of the Lich King. It is our sanctuary.”

Now, finally, Ash understands the capabilities of the Argent Crusade, what they fight for and represent. True unity, true faith in the Light and its principles. They may be able to defeat the Scourge after all.  
After taking a few moments to let it all sink in, Ash eventually turns to Melia.  
“Are you looking for new recruits?”

Melia smiles at her more brightly than previously and while still holding hands, she places the other on Ash’s shoulder.  
“We’re getting kinda full, but I’m sure we can squeeze you in somewhere, Revenor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah, we as players don't really visit this lair until Legion, but Blizzard isn't in control of this story, I am._   
>  _Also, yes, I know they say that only heroes of Lordaeron rest in the in-game Chapel, but I feel like that's a somewhat human-centric view. I know that the plaguelands is, technically, in Lordaeron, but as it's the best area to protect the souls of heroes, I felt like the Crusade would reach out to nations across the kingdoms and offer to bless them as well._


	13. A tale of azure

It’s a cloudy and windy day on the northern coastline of Darkshore. Very little activity tends to occur in this section of the land, although it is not for the lack of people. There are a lot of kaldorei living in the several towns and outposts that litter this region, but they tend to avoid certain areas.  
Remnants of the past, ruins of powerful and long dead Highborne, can be found in many sections. While they are sometimes of interest to the younger ones who want to search for relics or adventure, most do not wish to disturb the potential spirits that rest there.

However, this day is unlike others, as a quartet of people can be spotted riding on their mounts up along the old central road. The group appears to be rather determined, with a set goal, even if there really isn’t much out here that one can visit, except the ruins.  
What any onlookers do not realize, is that this team has a destination in mind which is hidden from prying eyes, a location that only one of them can point out.

After Nadelgosa described where the group had to travel in order to meet with her secret ally, Thariss said that they can provide her with a nightsaber of her own, but she declined. She was sure that it would become quite unnecessary.  
The drake had considered flying all the way, but discarded this idea when she realized how slow the mounts are in comparison. The only solution they could find was to let her ride with one of them and as she didn’t want to create any further tension, she decided to sit behind Rivaryn. Razz can easily carry them both anyway.

After travelling for a day or two, the shores in the north are now more visible to them, but the water is clearly not their intended target.  
“We’re almost there”, Nadel informs them. “You see that hill to the east? That’s where we’re going.”

The eyes of the three other women follows the indicated direction and spot the ridge lurking behind some trees. It’s slightly concealed, hundreds of meters off road, with a few rocks and plants on top. Had Nadel not told them, they would’ve probably ridden past it, as it’s not a particularly impressive or distinguishable area. Then again, perhaps that’s the point. Why else would anyone go all this way in the middle of nowhere?

Riv gestures for Razz to change direction and then glances over her shoulder at the woman sitting behind her.  
“Not that I doubt you or anything, but could we really not have met in Auberdine? This still feels a bit excessive to me.”

The drake has her arms around Riv’s waist, as she needs something to hold onto. The hunter has gotten the sense that she’s not entirely comfortable travelling in this manner. For now, Nadel shakes her head.  
“You misunderstand. We didn’t ride here because I wanted to hide her identity. This person is guarding an important aspect of our journey.”

Thariss overhears the conversation and arches her eyebrow.  
“Uh, and what would that be?”

“You’ll see. Once we arrive, I shall explain.”  
It only takes another few minutes for their mounts to go through the woods and stop at the foot of the hill. The riders jump off and they all ascend on foot - or hoof - together with the animals.  
Once they’re at the top, Nadel’s gaze searches the area and she calls out.  
“Stella? You can come out now. I’ve brought our allies.”

Suddenly, close to one of the rocks, a magical veil breaks and a fifth woman shows herself. It is another high elf, or at least someone who carries that appearance. She has the same pale skin, icy blue eyes and azure-blue scale patches as Nadel, but much longer hair. She’s also shorter than the drake, while wearing a set of blue and purple robes.  
This elf smiles brightly at Nadel and runs up to her, offering the drake a hug.

“I’m relieved that you’re alright”, says Stella, her voice being gentler than Nadel’s. “Took you a while to get back. I was getting worried.”

“You shouldn’t be. I had to help them clean up some of the mess that was made, that’s all.”

The trio briefly glances at each other, before directing very curious gazes towards this blue-haired duo. They somehow get the sense of what’s going on, but they still have to ask.  
“Who is this?”, Raxeen inquiries.

Nadel clears her throat and takes a step to the side, so that they can all see her companion.  
“Let me introduce Stellagosa, my little sister.”

Stella offers them a fairly warm smile, placing one hand behind her back and lifts the other to wave.  
“Hello there!"

They had somehow expected what she’d be, but not how closely related these two are, which is why the trio appears rather surprised.  
“Hold on”, says Thariss. “Sister? We didn’t know you had one.”

Nadel raises her brow skeptically and tilts her head.  
“What? Of course I do. I have many siblings. I thought that was at least something you kaldorei would know about my people.”

“Hey, I don’t read a lot of books on dragons and their familial structure, ya know.”

Riv folds her arms and watches them rather intently, being more intrigued than before.  
“Wait, if there were two of you, why didn’t you both join the battle?”

“Stella is a few centuries younger than me and certainly not as experienced in combat”, Nadel explains. “I preferred to let her remain behind and protect what we created here instead.”

Her description, while reasonable, is not satisfying to the younger drake. Stella now frowns at her sister.  
“Excuse me? I am quite capable of defending myself, thank you very much!”

“I didn’t say you weren't, just that you aren’t experienced.”

“You implied I couldn’t!”

Nadel rolls her eyes.  
“No, I didn’t. Listen to what I say, not what you want to hear.”

Their little bickering makes Riv giggle, while Thariss smirks and even Rax smiles.  
“I see you girls get along”, the warrior comments.

Riv seems very amused by this thought and nudges her elbow into her girlfriend’s side.  
“Reminds me of you and Shaerai.”

If she had been smug before, this emotion now disperses from Thariss’ face, to be replaced with a large amount of doubt.  
“…what? That’s ridiculous. We’re nothing alike!”

“If you say so, dear.”

Surprisingly, it is Rax who makes the first attempt at establishing a connection. She approaches Stella and bows her head slightly.  
“Achal hecta, lady Stellagosa. My name is Raxeen, a Vindicator of the draenei. This here is Rivaryn and Thariss.”

Being inspired by gestures in other places, Stella smiles at her and offers her hand, a motion that Rax accepts.  
“Yes, I know. Nadel told me about you, but it is very nice to finally get the chance to meet you.”  
Shortly after she says this, a solemn expression descends upon her.  
“I believe it would be wise of me to extend apologies on behalf of the blue dragons, for what was done to you. I hope that Nadel has tried to do the same.”

Nadel diverts her eyes out of embarrassment and coughs awkwardly. Rax glances at her, but then focuses on Stella.  
“She did. I have not yet decided if I will accept it.  
However, I am not one to judge an entire race based on the actions of a single individual. I do not hate your people simply because of what your sister attempted to do. I will gladly help you here - a paladin always assists the needy.”

This seems to please Stella, who bows her head in return.  
“Thank you, I am glad to hear you’re a woman of honor. We hope that we can prove the same to you.”

After their hands separate, Rax folds her arms and studies both drakes with a measure of curiosity.  
“Are the two of you close?”

Stella places her arms behind her back once more.  
“I’d like to say that we are, yes. The Azurewing dragons are quite a tight group in general.”

“Azurewing?”

The question confuses the younger drake, and she briefly checks with her sister, who doesn’t do much to explain.  
“Nadel hasn’t told you?”

“Not really. She has not provided us with many personal details at all.”

Nadel sighs and shuts her eyes.  
“…of course not. That’s why they’re personal.”

Stella simply shrugs at the thought of that notion.  
“Well, I don’t think it’s too much to reveal. Our brood hails from Azurewing Repose, in the land some know as the ‘Broken Isles’. We’ve lived there for quite a long time.”

The name doesn’t say much to the draenei, but Thariss seems to recognize it.  
“Broken Isles? That’s…where the city of Suramar was, right?”

“Parts of it, yes. Although we have no idea if there’s anyone still alive in there. Ever since the War of the Ancients, it has been locked behind some kind of magical barrier. I’ve never seen anyone go in or out.”

“When we encountered lady Nadelgosa, she was on Draenor, or Outland as you call it”, says Rax. “Do you travel a lot as well?”

Stella smiles and quickly shakes her head.  
“Not usually. Nadel is the more adventurous out of our siblings, preferring to go on important missions and make extended trips outside our lair. I usually like to stay at home.  
That’s why our grandfather dubbed her-“

Before she can say it, Nadel gasps and puts a hand on her sister’s shoulder with a sturdy grip.  
_“Stella, no!”_

The younger sibling looks confused.  
“What is it?”

Without being able to discern where it comes from, they see how Nadel starts to blush.  
“Don’t…don’t tell them that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s private!”

It’s not like they haven’t seen Nadel uncomfortable or awkward before, but this particular reaction only garners more of Rax’s interest.  
“It is that embarrassing? Well, now I am certainly curious to hear more.”

Unfortunately, Stella merely chuckles and shrugs.  
“Sorry, if my sister really wants to keep it a secret, then that’s what it’ll have to stay.”

Nadel refuses to look at the others and instead buries her face in her hands, while she exhales.  
In the meantime, Riv focuses on Stella.  
“What about this brother of yours?”

“Deradgos? Oh, he is a more charismatic dragon. I guess you could say he has aspirations of leadership. Even if our grandfather is still the local ruler, Derad tends to be his representative from time to time. He wants what’s best for our brood overall and likely wishes to become grandfather’s successor one day.”  
Some sorrow enters her eyes and she lowers them to the ground. Both her shoulders and ears slump at the same time.  
“That’s why these latest events were so disheartening…”

Feeling a need to reassure her, Rax closes the distance and puts a hand on Stella’s shoulder.  
“We will rescue your brother, lady Stellagosa. We promise.”

This does seem to help somewhat, as she offers a faint smile in return.  
“Thank you, I appreciate it. I hope we can succeed.  
Oh, and feel free to call me Stella.”

“So”, Thariss tries to interrupt, “now that we’re better acquainted and all that, maybe you can explain some things? Like, how the hell are we going to Northrend? I assume you’re not gonna fly us all the way.”

Nadel snorts at the idea.  
“Certainly not. I believe that would take too much time and be very inefficient.”

Thariss shrugs.  
“Would be cool.”

The drake stares at her silently for several seconds before she responds.  
“…I think we all value speed over aesthetics.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“At any rate, come with me. I will show you our mode of transport.”

She gestures with her hand and the rest of the group follows, while the mounts stay where they are for now. She guides them to an area behind some rocks and bushes, where the trio can see something on the ground. It appears to be an array of glowing purple and pink runes, drawn in patterns that none of the other women really recognize. For Riv, it is easy to detect the material used to create them, as her body is connected to the same essence – the arcane.

“This is a complex series of arcane calculations and magical formulas, which will allow us to temporarily create a stable portal directly to Northrend”, Nadel tells them. “Our destination will be a few kilometers outside of Coldarra.”

The trio is both astounded and confused at this thought. They aren’t mages, but this still sounds strange to them.  
“Uh, really?”, Riv asks. “But didn’t you say that Malygos had created disruptions in the ley lines, so that people can’t teleport?”

“Yes, but I was speaking of mortals.”

Stella walks in on the other side of the runes and looks towards the group.  
“We of the blue dragonflight are capable of seeing the magical ley line system of Azeroth, to feel it within us, if we’re close enough. Even if someone tried to disrupt it, we can still detect its presence no matter how weak it is and trace it back to the source. The spell we’ve crafted will circumvent the disruptions when it is cast, although only temporarily and for a short time.”

Nadel nods in agreement and positions herself opposite her sister.  
“When the portal is summoned, it will last for no more than ten or twenty seconds at most, before this pathway breaks apart. We would have to paint a new set of runes, if we wish to go back the same way.  
This is why I left Stella here, to protect them. It took us a few days to craft this set of thaumaturgical alignments and…well, I didn’t expect the Scourge to arrive during that process.”

“Can we bring our mounts?”, Riv asks.

“Yes, you can, and you’ll probably need them. Northrend is big and we do not recommend travelling on foot.  
Get yourselves ready and we shall depart.”

Riv, Thariss and Rax gather their gear and their mounts, making sure that they have everything they need. They realized it’d be a long journey after they had discussed what would be required, which is why they packed extra food and clothes; not just for themselves, but the animals as well. Riv is a little concerned about how Razz will react to the cold, as he is much more used to warmer climates. Sure, he’s been to Khaz Modan, but can that terrain even compare to Northrend?

When they seem to be ready, Nadel and Stella close their eyes, while they prepare the necessary spells. Pink and purple lights begin to emanate from their hands and in the air, the trio sees how various strange symbols and markings simply form out of nowhere. These objects are not static, but float around the group, as if drifting in the same direction as the wind or potentially some other natural current that they cannot detect.

Eventually, the two drakes throw their hands forward and the collision of their joint magic creates a small shockwave of air, like the center of a storm. Everyone not just hears, but sees how a crack is created in front of them, opening up a tear in reality. It’s hard to see exactly what type of landscape there is on the other side, but there is one element they can clearly distinguish – snow.  
“Go, hurry!”, Nadel shouts.

After a moment or two of hesitation, everyone leaps into the portal – Rax first, followed by Riv and Thariss. The drakes go in last. All of the mortals pray to their various beliefs that they’ll be alright.  
The journey is bumpier and less pleasant than other rides like this that they’ve endured before, but it does seem to work. In general, going through portals can be a strange experience and it’s not something that any of them do very often, but at least it’s not a lengthy process.

The mortal trio is practically spat out by the magic on the other side, falling into a heap of the white substance with their mounts. The drakes are somewhat more graceful.  
Before them, plains of snow and tundra extends for miles.  
“Welcome to Northrend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah, if you read the character list from the first chapter, then you knew that Stellagosa would appear here. I mean, I couldn't have an Azurewing family drama without her, right?_


	14. By torched memory

The Scourge’s choice to attack the major factions of Azeroth was a rather peculiar one. Not only did the undead fail with doing much else than cause minor structural damage and a bunch of deaths at best, but the act has attracted a huge heap of forces from the south, who have chosen to invade the shores of Northrend, in order to stop them once and for all. One of the foremost groups that leads this charge is of course the most recently forged one, the Argent Crusade.

After Ashindra decided to join this new organization, it didn’t take long for her to be assigned into a position and receive a location to go. Melia was being shipped to Northrend and she requested for Ash to be transferred into the same unit, something that neither the elf nor their superior’s protested. The priestess convinced Ash to enlist in the first place, so it seemed rather unwise to split them up now when they’re going into battle.

After travelling to the eastern coast, their unit was placed into one of the ships that was leaving and sailed to the north. This is where they can currently be found.  
It’s a pretty big boat, meant to hold a lot of people, but due to the size of the Crusade’s forces, a lot of them have had to share cabins. This included Ash, but she was actually in luck – Melia agreed to share hers with the paladin.

Ash’s initial reaction was, of course, a little bit of embarrassment. They have spent over a week or maybe more together, sure, but sharing sleeping arrangements? At least they wouldn’t be resting in the same bed.  
Melia didn’t seem to mind, however. She enjoys the company, especially during a long and dreary journey such as this one.

It’s still quite difficult for Ash to decide how she feels about the matter. She hasn’t spent much time around humans in years, but Melia has been so nice and accommodating. She’s often in a good mood, positive and even pretty cheerful. It reminds Ash of…well, her past self.  
That’s another aspect which Ash fears – what if she’s simply staying close to Melia to rediscover what she has lost? That wouldn’t be fair. If they are to build a friendship, it should be based on their mutual interactions, not for selfish reasons.

It has been a while since Ash sailed anywhere at all, so when she wanders over the deck on this day, she feels rather unsteady. She has never gotten seasick, as far as she knows, and for now, this doesn’t appear to have changed. Perhaps she’s just nervous. There are a lot of new aspects around her, after all.  
Her foremost worry right now is her appearance. She was allowed to keep her armor and weapons, but the other stuff she received from the quartermaster back in the Chapel, makes her feel awkward. Does this even suit her?

After traversing the ship and wandering through a tight corridor with a lot of other people nearby, she eventually reaches the shared cabin again. It’s not the biggest room in this place, far from it, but it could be described as cozy. No more than their beds and some small nightstands can fit. Before she enters, she takes a deep breath to prepare herself.  
Inside, Melia is currently sitting on her bed, drinking tea from a mug, while she scans some type of map with her eyes that she’s holding with the other hand. Once she notices Ash’s entrance, she smiles and looks up.

The stance Ash walks inside with is rather stiff. She clears her throat and then straightens the item that hangs over her chest – an Argent Crusade tabard.  
“So, uh…how do I look?”

Melia surveys her appearance and the smile widens with every second. Ash thinks it’s a delightful sight.  
“Like a confused and lost puppy.”

Ash’s eyes move around in a perplexed fashion.  
“…is that good?”

Melia starts to giggle without explanation, before she collects herself again. She lifts a hand and moves it in a circle. Ash follows the silent suggestion and slowly spins around, hoping that she hasn’t put this on in the wrong way. She doesn’t usually wear tabards.  
“You look great. Like a true Crusader.”

With a heavy sigh, Ash closes the door and proceeds to her own bed.  
“I’m not sure I feel like one.”

“No? I figured you would, since you’re a paladin. Your type usually fits in here, no matter where they come from.”

Ash doesn’t tell her outright, but for various reasons, this still feels…new. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to describe it as a reset, one that has been delayed for too long.  
Once she gets seated, she crosses her legs and rests her hands in her lap. The armor is currently placed in a neat pile on the floor.  
“To be honest, I think you belong here more than I do, and not just because you’re human. I’ve seen how the others look at you, how they treat you. They recognize you as one with experience.”

Melia reaches back with her hand to grab her ponytail, resting it on her shoulder instead and strokes a few fingers over it.  
“Well, I have been with the Dawn for a few years now.”

Seeing as how she was involved with the attack on Naxxramas, this wouldn’t be so strange to conceive. Melia must’ve been active for quite a while.  
“Have you been with them since the last Ashbringer?”

“Nah, not quite that long.”

“Oh. Did you not live in the north, then?”

“I did.”

Ash suddenly both feels and looks a bit awkward, and she scratches her cheek in thought.  
“Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t asked much about your background. Maybe I should’ve done that before.”

Melia chuckles.  
“That’s fine. It’s not like I’ve pried much either.”

“Where are you from?”

Before she responds, Melia gestures at the nightstand nearby.  
“I brought some thistle tea and crispbread from the kitchen. You can have some, if you want.”

Not only is this true, but it appears she brought two mugs as well.  
“Oh, thank you.”

While the paladin pours some for herself, Melia begins to work through her memories.  
“I’m from Stratholme, born before things fell apart. Haven’t had a proper home for a while. Guess you could say it’s what the Dawn became after I joined them.”

Ash hesitates now and feels even worse than before. The fate of that city hasn’t escaped her.  
“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

Melia holds up a hand to gently prevent any remorseful offer.  
“Don’t be, not your fault. Humans were the ones who made your people suffer anyway, so I should be the one to apologize.”

After she has prepared her drink, Ash leans back and rests the cup between her legs, letting the heat of it thaw her for a few seconds. The winds at sea can be quite relentless.  
“Have you always been with the church?”

The priestess shrugs and slides further back into the bed, leaning against the wall.  
“Yeah, pretty much. It’s been a tradition in my family for a few generations, so I was introduced to it early on.”

“Your family?”

“Yeah. My mother was Bishop Reliena Haven.”

Ash widens her eyes in surprise.  
“Oh, wow. Wasn’t that…a position of leadership?”

“In that district, yes. She was in charge of the Temple of Light, in Stratholme.”  
Her eyes drift to the floor, as she pushes her knees against her chest, fidgeting with her own mug.  
“I remember spending a lot of time on sermons and holidays within the church, sometimes even travelling with my mom to other places of worship, when they needed her help or guidance.”

“Did you ever feel uncomfortable? They must’ve expected a lot from you, with a parent like that.”

Melia tilts her head back and forth, as she ponders this notion.  
“Sure, it was kinda difficult at times, I guess, but not as bad as you think. My mother was very understanding and careful. I was all she had at home, so she wanted me to feel loved and grow up in a place filled with joy.”

“Hmm. What about your father?”

Another sensation ignites in her now and Melia furrows her brow, while she turns her face away.  
“I…I dunno. My parents never got married and my dad left mom when I was very young.”

“I see. Did he not stay in Stratholme?”

“Not really. I don’t think he was even born in the city, but he did live there for a while. He moved pretty much immediately after they separated, and she never liked to talk about him.”

Ash nods and thinks it’s probably best to leave this topic behind.  
“I understand. What about Reliena? Is she with the Crusade as well?”

From this angle, it’s hard to spot exact details, but Ash is pretty sure that she can detect signs of sorrow, even if Melia tries to hide it.  
“She’s not. Mom, she…she stayed behind when Arthas came with his troops.”

Well, this just keeps getting worse and worse. Ash feels like she’s digging further into the pit of misery with every question, which is certainly not what she wanted. Why does she keep being such a gloomy presence?  
She holds up a hand, to cover her eyes.  
“Oh, Light…I’m so sorry. You have my sincerest condolences.”

When their eyes meet again, it’s clear that this is a difficult topic for Melia to speak of, but she still tries to swallow and offer a small smile in return.  
“It’s…yeah.”  
She glances to the side, seeing her bag lying on the floor not too far from Ash’s armor. She moves over to it, opens it up and fishes something out. What she fetches is a fairly small mace. It seems to be made of steel and it is in fine condition, possibly newly polished. There are two symbols engraved in thin pieces of gold on opposite sides – one shows the mark of Lordaeron and the other belongs to the church.  
“This is an item that my mother used. It isn’t strictly a weapon, but more of a tool that she utilized for blessings and Light-based rituals. She called it ‘Sinfall’. She didn’t give it to me and it wasn’t something that I received until a few years later. Someone from the Argent Dawn had managed to retrieve it and when he heard I joined the organization, he gave it to me. It’s…all I have left of her.”

Ash studies the item from afar, seeing it’s almost gleaming appearance. There’s a small presence of the Light emanating from it, displaying its internal strength.  
“It’s beautiful. She must’ve been remarkable for using such a tool.  
Did you join the Dawn directly after…what happened in Stratholme, then?”

Melia shakes her head and places the mace on the bed next to her.  
“It wasn’t around by then. I did sign up a few months after it was formed, though. I had nowhere else to go, but I still wanted to help, to protect people like mom used to do.”  
She slowly strokes a couple of fingers along the hilt of the mace, even if her gaze seems to be far away from here.  
“Been involved with the fighting against the Scourge ever since, in as many battles as I can. I was promoted to Lieutenant during the Naxxramas campaign and they transferred this rank when we formed the Crusade.”

“I see. You must be ready to take revenge then as well, for all you’ve endured.”

Something quite troubled comes over Melia at that comment, and for a couple of seconds, she can’t decide whether she should say something or not.  
“No, that’s-…”  
She faces Ash again.  
“I’m not here for vengeance. I’m fighting because the Scourge must be stopped, so that no one else has to experience our tragedies.”

Once more, Ash hesitates. Can she really say the same, that she’s not involved for selfish reasons?  
“That’s…admirable.”

“Anyway, enough about me. And you?”

“Huh?”

“Where are you from?”

Ash looks a bit confused as she shrugs.  
“Uh, well, I think you know I’m from Quel’Thalas.”

Despite the solemn nature of the topic she just spoke of, Melia’s positivity seems to return, and she smirks slightly, while rolling her eyes.  
“Tsk. You don’t say? And here I thought you hailed from Stranglethorn!”

The paladin appears even more bemused at this comment.  
“Uh…”

“That was a joke. Your land is pretty big, Revenor. Just saying ‘Quel’Thalas’ doesn’t tell me much.”

Ash reluctantly scratches the back of her neck.  
“That’s true. Have you…ever been there, though?”

“Of course. A couple of times, in fact, on church business. We weren’t allowed to go into Silvermoon back then, but I’ve visited the south.”

Ash now looks rather intrigued and she nods slowly.  
“Oh. Okay, did you ever go to Tranquillien?”

“Yes, I did! Nice little town.” She smiles and absentmindedly strokes a few fingers around her lips. “I _adored_ the chapel they had there. So peaceful and ornate, almost magical. It was also the first place that mom allowed me to drink alcohol, when they gave us Brightsong wine. I was uh, thirteen, I think.”

This reminiscence makes Ash mirror her expression.  
“I agree, it was a great place. Tranquillien is…erm, it’s my hometown.”

Melia views her with even more interest than before.  
“Really? Huh. Well, guess that explains why you’re so nice.”

“Not everyone is, but…thank you.  
I used to be a priestess as well, before the Scourge came. Once my people formed the Blood Knights, I was one of the first who joined, out of necessity.”

Melia nods with a measure of understanding.  
“I heard how tough it was after all that destruction. You must’ve had to do a lot of things to survive.”

Ash peers down into the beverage within her cup, her mind drifting away.  
“More than you know.”


	15. Token gesture

Forebodingly mute, that’s how some of the group would describe this region. This isn’t a trait aimed at the lack of sound, colors or movement, but how still, slow and distant everything feels.  
It’s a fairly open zone, with only the occasional hills and caverns, large patches of long grass, fields with geysers and, naturally, snow. There are no forests, no major mountains outside the ones separating it from other parts of Northrend, and very few settlements, most of them built recently by southern factions. The wind carries an unease with it, an unavoidable chill that grasps not only at their skins, but practically penetrates their bodies and minds. Death’s looming presence is beyond the physical.

The group of five women arrived somewhere in the center of this region when they were ejected from the portal, greeted by nothing and no one, except a fierce gust and snowflakes trickling down from the sky. They rode towards the northwest, with Nadelgosa taking her seat behind Rivaryn again and Stellagosa sitting in front of Raxeen, with the draenei’s arms around her. It appears at least the younger drake is having a bit of fun with this particular arrangement.

“Borean Tundra”, the older drake explains, “that’s what they call this region.”

Riv’s emerald eyes scan the immediate surroundings, with the geysers not too far to the east being the most interesting element to her. Comparing anything here to Quel’Thalas is almost absurd.  
“Who does?”

“I believe it may have been named by the tuskarr. They are the foremost denizens of this land, outside my own.”

Rax arches her brow confusedly, as yet another word she hasn’t heard before is spoken. There really are a lot of oddities on Azeroth, huh?  
“Tuskarr? Who or what are they?”

“A fairly peaceful walrus-like people that live along the southern coastlines of Northrend, mostly in small villages. The majority are fishers or hunters.”

“They call themselves ‘kalu’ak' in their own language, don’t they?”, Stella points out.

“Ah, yes, that’s correct. I haven’t had the chance to speak much with them.”

“Are these kalu’ak the only presence outside dragons in this tundra?”, Rax inquiries.

Nadel quickly shakes her head.  
“Definitely not. Though the region may seem sparse from this angle, many people call it home. Magnataurs, Drakkari trolls, taunka, snobolds and murlocs also inhabit this land.”

They hear a dissatisfied groan from Thariss’ direction.  
“…crap. Not murlocs. Let’s avoid those slippery bastards if we can.”

Rax raises a hand to stroke one of the tentacles hanging over her neck in thought. It occasionally wriggles in reaction.  
“Hmm, fascinating. Are they all friendly?”

“No, they are not”, Nadel tells her without hesitation, “but we aren’t here for them anyway.”

Riv glances over her shoulder at the drake.  
“What about the Scourge? Do they lurk here too?”

Shortly after, she feels how the grasp on her waist grows a bit tighter and Nadel’s expression hardens.  
“Yes, but not in this particular area. They can mainly be located to the south and the east. For now, I would suggest we avoid those directions.”

None of them are going to argue with that assessment. Their goal, for the time being, is to help the drakes and hopefully succeed with this rescue mission.  
The further northwest they ride, the more another piece of local landscape becomes unveiled, although most could already see it earlier. It can be described as the only mountainous section of the land, which for some reason lies closest to the sea. High and sharp peaks filled with snow and ice display themselves, almost discouraging approach. Unfortunately, that seems to be their destination.

“What is that strange mountain?”, Rax asks. “It almost appears to rise out of nowhere.”

Nadel looks in that direction, recognition pervading her gaze.  
“It’s not just a mountain, but an island. It is our ultimate goal – Coldarra.”

Now that they know, all mortal eyes turn to face and scan it. There is some doubt building due to the fact that they can’t see any obvious paths inside.  
“Island, huh?”, says Thariss. “Doesn’t seem to match the rest of this place. Did it drift down here from somewhere else?”

“Actually, no. The island itself was always there, but it was altered by Lord Malygos and other blue dragons long ago”, Stella explains. “It was created to become the main lair for our people, to protect our eggs, artifacts and secrets.”

Nadel raises her hand, pointing upwards.  
“Do you see the lights at the top? I believe your eyes can spot the arcane traces, Rivaryn.”

They follow her instructions, but it’s difficult for the other two to witness much, due to a thick mist surrounding that height. The blood elf, however, after narrowing her eyes, does manage to note the tinge of magic.  
“Yeah, I think so. It’s very faint.”

“I suppose it’s still too far away to observe the details, but what you are seeing is the top of an ancient ice fortress that was constructed in the center. It’s held together by immense flows of arcane streams and magical runes. It’s meant to be a focal point of sorts, to control ley lines and enchanted fortifications. With it, Malygos can alter the land and shape reality.  
It’s called ‘the Nexus’, and it extends deep underground. One path even opens to Malygos’ personal pocket realm, the Eye of Eternity.”

Thariss turns to her with a highly skeptical gaze.  
“Hope that’s not where you plan to take us.”

Stella smiles at her.  
“That would be a very foolish choice. For our interests, the lairs beneath the ground is more crucial.”

“Indeed, for we’re certain that Deradgos is held within one of those underground chambers”, Nadel clarifies, “though we haven’t been able to pinpoint his exact location. We do know that our people keeps an arcane prison down there, for particularly dangerous foes. I haven’t visited myself, but grandfather informed us.”

Their mounts have slowed down somewhat, to make the conversation a bit simpler to conduct. For now, they do follow a marked road, but will have to divert from it eventually.  
“The Horde and Alliance, are they also here?”, Thariss inquiries.

“Yes, but due to the size of this place, it may be hard to see from here”, Stella responds.  
She points towards the west.  
“The Horde built their fortress in the center of a large quarry. They call it Warsong Hold.”

Now that they look in this direction, the group does see what she means, as a stronghold distinguishes itself on top of a hill, a few miles away. The spikes and jagged outlines are designs that they recognize from Orgrimmar.  
“Huh. Impressive that they managed to build something so big this quickly”, Riv comments.

“Last we heard, they seemed to have trouble with an infestation of underground nerubian lairs.”

“…nerubians too?”, Thariss asks and then shivers. “Did I mention that I already hate this place? My people have legends about the cursed nature of Northrend, but now I’m actually starting to believe them.”

“So do my people”, Riv confesses. “Though the sin’dorei were here only a few years ago, while chasing after Arthas.”

Nadel doesn’t look particularly impressed by their beliefs.  
“Your myths are merely superstitions. This land has more variety than it may seem, but the Scourge’s arrival has destroyed much history and opportunity.”

Shortly after, Stella continues her explanation.  
“Further to the south, by the coast, you’ll find the Alliance expedition. They built a place called Valiance Keep and we believe they have similar problems with the nerubians, as well as other undead. Curiously, the Scourge’s resistance is mild at best. They could send legions to destroy their enemies, but haven’t so far.”

Another sharp wind washes over them and Thariss’ ears fold closer to her head. She’s considering putting on the warm earmuffs she brought for this purpose, to prevent potential future illness. It’d be unfortunate to get frostbite this early.  
“Both sides were pretty quick to build strongholds, huh? Wonder if they aim to stick around after this war is over, since they put so much effort into it.”

“They are not the only ones”, Nadel comments and gestures ahead. “There’s an area to the north of us called ‘Amber Ledge’, where the Kirin Tor have a minor outpost, together with the red dragonflight. They haven’t informed us exactly what they’re doing, but we assume they’re spying on Coldarra.”

“Really?”, Riv asks. “Does that mean they’re going to help us with this little endeavor?”

Nadel’s response is delayed for a second or two, before she shakes her head.  
“No, that won’t be possible. It’s not that we would refuse their aid, but when we made contact with them, both the mages and the reds rejected our offer.”

“Why?”

The older drake looks into Riv’s eyes for a moment, before she diverts her own. She doesn’t respond. Instead, this is left for a hesitant Stella.  
“They didn’t agree with our idea and said it would be unwise to proceed.”

Up until this point, no plan has really been described to the team, only the purpose of their visit. Suddenly, all of them detect hints of reluctance worming its way into their chests.  
“…uh, why do I feel like I’m not gonna enjoy this?”, Thariss asks.

Nadel shuts her eyes and exhales audibly.  
“Look, it’s not that we haven’t considered the risks and the potential hazards of this excursion. The red dragons are simply…unwilling to take chances for our kind, which is unfair. They claim it is too hasty, but I disagree.”

Rax glances between both drakes, and even if both appear to be determined, their presentation leaves much to be desired.  
“Now that we have almost arrived, perhaps you can describe this strategy of yours? It would be preferable to know what we are getting ourselves into, before we actually infiltrate the island.”

The older drake looks directly at the paladin now.  
“That’s not the issue here. We aren’t going into Coldarra and you can’t enter it anyhow. Not without flying.”

Thariss blinks in a perplexed fashion.  
“Wait, what? If we can’t get in, how are we supposed to rescue your brother?”

“The only path into Coldarra for mortals, outside of flight, used to be a bridge built over the waters of the Westrift, called the Frostbridge by the tuskarr. It was destroyed by Malygos’ subordinates at the start of this conflict. Stella and I already factored this into the plan before we came to you. Instead of trying to ship you one by one into hostile territory, we’re aiming for a section to the north, where you’ll find an open field filled with snow and ice. It’s a place where young whelps are usually allowed to take their first flights outside of Coldarra.  
The plan is simple, although I understand if you don’t agree with its capability. There are some caveats involved. Do you remember the artifact you helped me obtain back in Outland?”

Riv and the other mortals inclines their heads in acknowledgement, though the hunter answers for them.  
“Of course, it’s difficult to forget. That was probably the most dangerous mission we got involved with over there.”

“Well, while it was not the original purpose of the device, I have decided to use it in this instance. We are going to perform a trade – we will give Malygos’ loyalists the artifact, in exchange for Derad’s release. It contains a lot of valuable knowledge, so it will be hard for them to refuse.  
I know a spell that is used as a type of magical flare, which will attract attention from one of the sentries, who will fly over to investigate.”

“So…you want to negotiate?”

“Precisely.”

“And what if they don’t want to?”

She gestures between the three mounts.  
“That’s where you come in. A sentry may be quite capable in a fight, but if we all work together, we can capture it and use it as further leverage. It’s also possible that the red dragons change their minds if they see us accomplish something like this.”

The conversation is instilled with temporary silence as all three mortals ponder the nature of this suggestion. The drakes don’t have to access mindreading abilities to observe the building uncertainty in them.  
“Hmm…I think I see the reds’ angle now”, the hunter remarks.

“Well, it is certainly… _a_ plan”, Rax adds.

Thariss snorts, not necessarily in a mocking fashion, but still highly doubtful.  
“Yeah, a fucking stupid one.”

Nadel scowls towards the kaldorei.  
“How rude. I’ve given it quite a bit of consideration, you know. This is the only way.”

“Are you sure? I mean, if the blues meet us with like, an entire squad, you do realize they can just arrest or kill everyone, right? We can take one dragon, sure, but we’re fucked if we have to face a whole legion of ‘em.”

“Yes, thank you, I’m very much aware of the situation”, Nadel comments annoyedly. “I don’t have many other solutions to this dilemma, though. We can’t actually break into the prison, as there is far too much security for our small group to handle.”

Stella clears her throat to get a word in.  
“The chances of several dragons flying out to meet us is quite minimal. It’s rare for our people to break protocol.”

“Uh, unless they assume it’s a trap, you mean”, Thariss points out. “If I was them, that’s what I’d prepare for.”

Riv tries to take a moment to think about the plan, running her hand in under the blankets strapped to Razz, to stroke his scales. The two are closely connected and can partially share emotions; he’s likely sensing her anxiety, which makes him antsy.  
“This is far from what you told us back in Darkshore and I can’t deny that I’m very skeptical…but we did agree to help. We’ll assist you, as long as this is done carefully.”

Nadel exhales in relief, while Stella smile.  
“Thank you”, the older drake tells them. “Seriously, we are very grateful. Before we begin, I suggest we get a night’s sleep once we arrive in the correct area. I also have some defensive spells to prepare, just in case.”  
She goes quiet for a couple of moments, but her eyes move around searchingly, as if there’s another perspective to tackle. In the end, she realizes that she can’t ignore it and turns to face her little sister.  
“Stella, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this, but I don’t think we have a choice. You have to remain outside of the meeting.”

Stella widens her eyes in sheer shock.  
“What?! Why would you say that now, after all this time?”

“Because the risks involved makes this a dangerous situation for you. It’s better if you hide.”

“But…we’ve done everything together up until now! You can’t just suddenly exclude me!”

“I won’t exclude you, I just don’t want you to get hurt. You aren’t as experienced in combat, after all. And if I fail…someone has to bring back word to grandfather.”

The younger drake is confounded, not having expected this sudden change of plans. They were the only two Azurewing dragons prepared to do everything in order to save Deradgos and now Stella can’t go? This is not something she can accept.  
“No!”, she exclaims while frowning. “I won’t just sit by and let another one of my siblings get arrested! I’m going with you, Nadel!”

The older drake sighs and her shoulder falls, discouraged by her sister’s ardent resistance.  
“Stella, please, do as I say. I’m your older sister.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to order me around!"

“I know, I know, but this is for the best.” She looks at the younger drake with a gentle, practically pleading gaze. “Please, don’t fight me on this. Grandfather would never forgive me if anything happened to you on my watch.”

Stella doesn’t simply surrender without at least offering an intense glare, to display just how much she disapproves of these words. In the end, she jerks her head away in an almost furious manner. Rax, who’s sitting behind her, believes she can see the hands clenching.  
“Fine, have it your way, but don’t expect me to like it. You can’t stop me from waiting nearby, though, and that’s what I’ll do. If they take you…”

Nadel wishes she could reach out and touch her sister, but the distance between the mounts are too far right now.  
“Then you will find help elsewhere. I trust you, Stella and all I ask is that you do the same for me.”


	16. Acute attachment

For Ashindra, the emerging disorder was almost immediate, sneaking up on her with frightening efficiency.  
Once the Argent Crusade had reached their destination in the north, most of the ship clusters separated, to be more manageable, aim for different objectives and shores to prepare their invasion. The region they chose to launch this campaign on was apparently called Howling Fjord, a name with eerie implications.

The vessel which Ash and Melia sailed with shifted further east, towards a location that members of the Horde had dubbed ‘Vengeance Landing’. Rumor has it that the Forsaken subsection prefers to go their own route in the quest to defeat their irrefutable nemesis, rather than follow the recommendations of the Warchief. The Horde as a whole does have inherent problems with discussions of unity and hierarchy, which makes this theory fairly plausible.

Already before anyone can disembark, a recognizable noise echoes over the span of the craft strolling across the waters, which sends unease into the hearts of its crew – the alarm bells are ringing.  
Sprinting to the deck and turning their attentions towards the coast, they can spot the enemy waiting, thankfully lit up by the sun’s omnipresent rays. The undead legions are charging and harassing…well, another group of walking corpses, but of a friendly sort. Well, _friendlier_ , at the very least.

Thoughts of leaping into the sea are instantly discouraged by all personnel with the knowledge of the local climate and environment, which spurs the summoning of a slower alternative. Smaller boats hanging off the hull are dropped in the ocean and all available soldiers reserve as many seats as are surmountable. Once a craft gets filled, it darts towards the beaches, merging with the wave of eager landing parties.

Even prior to arriving at the dry and frozen earth, several crusaders jump off their vehicles and begin wading through the now no more than waist-high waters. Battle shouts and courageous cries erupt from their throats, letting their enemies know that righteous demise is impending.  
The majority of the boat Ash sits on disappears into this avid charge, but she lingers, hanging back for a few additional moments. She needs to gather the mental supplies that she keeps around specifically when dealing with the chaotic intensity of combat. She has to scrub any doubt, all traces of hesitation and misgivings to strike.

Unfortunately, her comrades won’t permit a lengthy delay and that’s probably why she feels a slight, albeit firm, nudge right on her back, pushing her into the sea. With no other option, she begins her own approach, stumbling through the wet terrain, while she loads all spiritual and physical capacities into the mode of war. It’s not until her belt resurfaces that she can fumble for the weapon in its sheath and extract the enchanted blade. Over the flat ends, one can spot inscriptions marked in Thalassian.

The more foothold she regains, the further her speed increases and adrenaline gradually overtakes her mental faculties. With the free hand, she reaches for the spiked shield on her back and holds it as an unbreakable bulwark. If she were a mere warrior, this would be as far as her preparational efforts would go, but there’s another angle to Ash’s character, one that slumbers patiently within. She prays to the entity which has recently reestablished her faith, asking the Light not only for guidance, but assistance. She begs it to infuse her equipment and strengthen their destructive proficiencies.

It responds with zeal, materializing a faintly visible aura around both the longsword and the shield. On the weapon, this is situated primarily on the sharp edge, that which shall cause devastation; the yearning it builds silently calls out for the shattering of undead abominations, pleading for Ash to let it purge their unseemly existences.  
The nigh divine powers of the Light also capture her shield in its grasp, of course, becoming an added layer of defense, should she find herself in a problematic scenario at a later date.

As she advances, Ash tries to give herself an internal note to watch for the tabards of the Banshee Queen, their allies. It would be rather regrettable if she unintentionally struck down their temporary partners and caused a political disaster. Not to mention the guilt she’d have to endure upon realizing she killed an innocent being, reanimated or not.  
She will concede to the argument that it becomes somewhat difficult to maintain awareness, as her mind begins to fill with one overpowering desire – eradicate the Scourge.

She launches her body into the fires of battle and her very first act is to raise the shield and block a fairly sizeable skeleton that swings a large and sturdy hammer in her direction. The collision of their tools sends vibrations through her arms and torso, but while this should be discouraging, it instead increases her resolve, hardening her mind for the situation she has plunged into. Ashindra Revenor the fighter awakens, and she turns the clash around, bashing the creature’s chest to stagger it and then lifts her heavy boot to kick her foe away.

Almost immediately following this act, her sword seizes its first victim by cutting down a ghoul with a spinning slash, severing its rotten skin and letting it drop to the ground. Most blades would likely do no more than expose the entrails, but thanks to the presence of the Light, the desiccated flesh appears singed, charred to the core. Another undead beast unsuccessfully surges towards her from a separate flank, but she reflexively swings the sword in this angle with impressive precision, enveloping a reanimated hound in the Light’s judgement.

Obviously, Ash is not alone in her slow stride forward, as many more brave combatants follow a similar pattern. Next to her, she can spot an orc and two humans on one side, with a tauren, night elf and draenei combo on the other. All of them struggle ardently, almost with a layer of desperation, to stem the tide and simultaneously gain ground. A strenuous task to say the least, but if there’s one thing they are most passionate to accomplish, enough to stare death in the eye, it’s a confrontation such as this and the inevitable end of the Scourge.

Initially, Ash has no problems imitating the same fervor, fighting with ferocity and unyielding devotion, but the longer this persist, the more her concentration dwindles. Images of the past infects her mind and obscures her thoughts.  
Out of the corner of her eyes, she suddenly witnesses old allies running for their lives, hears the unmistakable noise of terrified screams in the distance and choking growls slither up from behind, even though her back should be free.

Sweat pours down her brow, her throat dries up and she detects the skulking grasp of fear snaking around her courage, with an unambiguous intent to choke it. She flinches, loses her focus and inadvertently positions herself in a perilous condition. A voice begins to whisper poisonous truths into her ear, telling her that she’s alone and abandoned. Rivaryn is not here, Vestarial is gone and Quel’Thalas shall _burn_. She might as well surrender, for she will find nothing but dismay and annihilation in this future.

Becoming too distracted by whatever psychological effect that ails her, she doesn’t note how an undead unit charges towards her, being on the brink of striking. Luckily, help arrives at an opportune time.  
A barrier of Light suddenly forms around her, sealing any gaps in her defenses. As soon as the undead’s tendrils attempts to lash her, they are instead forced to retreat, as the touch of the smiting flames produces agony beyond comprehension. It gets no reprieve, no opportunity to escape, as a purging pillar of holy energy soon crashes down on top of it, shattering its existence.

The abrupt nature of this rescue startles the paladin, unshackling her consciousness once more, as she tries to recover her focus. A familiar voice echoes behind her.  
“Braktog, don’t pull ahead of the rest so rapidly! Ishvaala, shut that breach to your right! Rhyta, step back from the front and let the heavies take the brunt of the assault! C’mon people, huddle up, or they’ll split and trap us, one by one!”  
Shortly after, the priestess reaches Ash’s side and plants a careful hand on her shoulder. Her gaze scans the elf’s body, searching for wounds, but none are blatantly discernible.  
“You okay, Revenor?”

The paladin is panting, her knees bent somewhat, and she has to lift her arm to wipe some saliva that escapes her mouth.  
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” She pauses, hoping to catch the attentiveness that slipped away. Get ahold of yourself, Ash. Don’t lose it now. “I wasn’t ready for the cold.”

Melia’s expression can, at best, be described as skeptical, but she doesn’t question the excuse at the moment.  
“Okay. You wanna guard our rear? I can reposition you if-“

“No”, Ash interrupts, recuperating some confidence. “No, I can do this.”

“Good. I know you’ve got some command experience and I’m gonna need you to recall some of that right now. I’d appreciate it if you could assist me.”

Ash turns, directing her eyes into the much more compassionate ones of the Lieutenant. She inspects them, making sure that the presented belief is genuine. It would be impossible to state with absolute certainty, but she’s willing to claim that there is some measure of faith on display. That’s all she requires.  
“I’ll do my best. Just give us a strategy.”

Melia’s lips curl into a smile and she pats the paladin’s back, an indication to return into the improvised post reserved for her.  
“Alright, crusaders, gather up!”, she shouts. “Let’s show these monsters what we’re capable of! Thoradin formation, now!”

The sin’dorei hurries up to the front, knowing what this tactic entails. All close combat defenders, those who can take a heavy barrage and still endure, join Ash’s location while raising their shields. Two humans, two orcs, a tauren and a troll is the team that positions itself as the outermost barricade, to weather any oncoming assaults.  
Behind them, four archers, three spellcasters and a duo of druids unleash a rain of havoc. Arcane bolts, volleys of arrows, spears of moonlight and fire tempests are all lobbed across their protectors or somehow hurled directly from the heavens. Meanwhile, Melia and a second priest reinforces all the living in their vicinity, crafting Light-based domes, defensive parameters and imbuing their allies with enhancing blessings.

All across the battlefield, the encounter shifts in the Argent Crusade’s favor, as virtually all squads copy this most effective tactic and drives the undead menace back in the shadows of Northrend’s interior. Dozens are obliterated in seconds.  
It would appear that the Scourge does not really operate with any fundamental plan in this particular clash, outside of the apparent hope that sheer numbers shall prevail. This notion is most obvious when all of them simply storm their foes, to seize any opportunity to bash, claw, strike and gnaw, rather than utilize a level of guile.

In a straight battle of strength, this idea might have met with some success, should magical, spiritual or divine aid not be accessible. Unfortunately, unification of a whole variety of schools, especially the Light, is one of the Crusade’s foremost assets. They are built with the express intention to utilize any means of defeating their overwhelming enemy, which makes the Scourge’s retort appear rather meagre. One may wonder if this is all they have to offer, or if this might be a mere ploy.

Ash won’t deny the presence of turmoil in her heart, perhaps a measure of stage fright. Her unit had come together a few times during the journey, wherever they had enough space, in order to rehearse each member's abilities and test their merits. Sadly, in those meetings, she was always hesitant to speak. She felt like an outsider, one who had swooped in from nowhere and couldn’t simply assume that she would gain a place without striving to earn it. Could they ever appreciate or even come to accept her role?

Fortunately, all such fears were unfounded. Together, here and now, they stand tall against any and all opposition. All doubt and misgivings are forgotten, and they assist each other whenever trouble arises. It boosts Ash’s spirit to witness any of the adjacent crusaders stepping in to reinforce areas where their companions falter. Thanks to this revelation, she collects enough resolve to issue commands of her own. This is an especially useful element when they notice how a trio of abominations charges in their direction, making the earth rumble.

“Shield bearers, form up on me! Shape a joint barrier and I’ll bolster our resistance!”  
They obey her orders and as they all converge in the center, she lowers her sword, shuts her eyes, clenches her fist and calls upon a familiar entity.  
“Light, I beseech you to aid us in our struggles. Bless our shields with your empowering embrace and grant us your unyielding perseverance!”

Whether based on the prayer or Ash’s own internal energy, the Light listens and its essence gleams onto every protective object in the abominations' path. The undivided display is steady enough to block the incoming impacts, preventing their thrashing from even creating a single dent. Following this feat, the ranged and the close combat heavy hitters unleash their countermeasures, sundering their relentless attackers.

This process doesn’t stop here, as they utilize the same method yet again, and then another time after that. Each achievement stocks Ash’s mind with not only self-esteem, but relief, which grows and flourishes.  
When the battle is finally over, and a resounding victory has been accomplished, she is almost on the verge of joining the cheers and triumphant battle shouts that erupt in joy that they have established a first foothold. The best she can offer is a smile.

Suddenly, it’s like she’s part of something again, a cause worth fighting for. She can get used to that pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yup, Riv's team is on the opposite end of Northrend. I guess we'll see if their journeys happen to take them any closer to each other, huh?_


	17. To bargain with incredulity

Uncaring and all-encompassing gales thrust against the team as they all rise from their slumber, gaining an acute reminder of their surroundings. Barring the dragons, winter is not a favorite season among any of the gathered women, which makes the choice of travelling to this location very unfortunate. Northrend is seemingly locked in a perpetual state of icy storms and frigid days, only made worse by the nagging sensation that death looms nearby.

Rivaryn’s team had followed Nadelgosa’s instructions, travelled to the colder north of the tundra and searched for a suitable spot to prepare their unpredictable encounter with the drake’s distant relatives, or whatever one might call them.  
This particular task couldn’t be deemed as difficult, but the innate nervousness that it conjures prior to arrival is what plunges them all into a troublesome state.

After a quick breakfast, the group sends an unwilling Stellagosa away, telling her to observe the proceedings from afar and only act if absolutely necessary. The mounts, including Razz, go with her. She could be a second contingency plan, in case everything goes wrong, though it’s unlikely that would change the process by much. If these tough mercenaries and one drake can’t deal with their foes, then how would Stella’s interferences alter the equation whatsoever? Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t try, of course.

Once the lure is planted, they wait, though not an incredibly extended amount of time, for one target does undoubtedly emerge, no more than ten minutes later.  
Above the peaks of Coldarra, they spot a sentry descending in their direction, unwittingly dipping into what might be a most vexing day, where a cage could be its end, should it choose to decline any offers.

The mercs consider themselves to be even more fortunate, due to the fact that the sentry which glides into position is a drake, not a full dragon. Should expedite any hostile operations. It’s not like a fully grown one would’ve been entirely implausible for the group to seize, but their chances now are unmistakably higher.  
That the scaled creature has grown wary is an aspect they all acknowledge, practically being able to detect by studying the hastened wing beats, the squinting and the circling that follows from above.

When Rax glances sideways, she notes how Nadelgosa’s brow is furrowed, her fingers moving in a potential sign of anxiety. Being closest to the friendly drake, she takes one step towards her and speaks quietly.  
“Is something amiss?”

The silence between them lingers for a few seconds, with Nadel’s gaze still fixated on the sentry. She eventually shakes her head.  
“No, it’s nothing.”

The sentry lowers itself to a landing zone about twenty meters away, but the heightened alertness lingers.  
“I recognize the essence of a fellow member of the blue dragonflight”, the other drake tells her in a draconic tongue, “but why have you brought mortal intruders into our lands?”

Nadel assesses the scents in the air, the excreted pheromones which indicates a male. She clears her throat and steps ahead of the rest, placing her as the primary target. She speaks in Common instead.  
“Greetings. My name is Nadelgosa and I am here to bargain. I wish to have my brother, Deradgos, released from his arcane cell in the depths of the Nexus.”

The response from the sentry is delayed, the wings on the back displaying minor tentative flaps.  
“I…don’t know either of those names”, he admits.

“Deradgos was one of those who attended Malygos' council gathering weeks ago, representing the Azurewing dragons.”

Comprehension now dawns on his features.  
“One of the traitors? You want to free a turncoat from the dungeons that he rightfully belongs in?”

“Stop that!”, she objects. “I will not have such slander attributed to my brother! He’s an honorable and compassionate dragon, and only declared what he believed to be a wiser conclusion to our current dilemma. Imprisonment was harsh and unjustified!”

The sentry emits a light hiss.  
“I don’t agree, but it’s your prerogative to believe what you wish. We won’t exonerate him simply because you begged, however.”

Nadel sighs and rolls her eyes, trying to contain her indignation. Whomever this is, he probably won’t be convinced by her shouts.  
“And I wasn’t implying that you’d have to. I did say I would bargain and I’ve not come emptyhanded.”  
She lifts her hand, summons the arcane into her fingers and unveils an object that lands in her palm, which reveals a unique appearance – a small light blue cube with black lines constantly altering directions across its length and orbs in all colors of the rainbow drifting around it. Transparent, nigh incorporeal in design.  
“This is an ancient artifact, crafted by the senior and venerated dragon lord Senegos. As his granddaughter, it is currently in my possession and if you are willing to work with us, this trade can occur without issue. In fact, we can make sure you’re the one that gets to deliver it to lord Malygos, which I’m certain will garner his favor.”

Without his knowledge, Nadelgosa keeps her other hand behind her back, suffusing her fingertips with arcane runes as she prepares potential countermeasures, just in case he decides to flee or strike against them. Not an inconceivable choice, if this sentry is impudent enough.  
At first, he stares eerily silent for several moments, making the group wonder whether he actually understood the question or if he’s merely contemplating every angle in this offer. Takes a bit of time, but he does eventually come in for a mental landing.

“That is quite a beneficial deal in the eyes of the blue dragons…but an unacceptable conclusion.”

“What? How could you-“

Without warning, he slams his front claws to the ground, digging them into the snow, before Nadel has a chance to retaliate. Suddenly, most of them sense an impending surge of a familiar spell, not too dissimilar from what they experienced previously. Of course the blue dragons would have neutralization procedures in place, snares to catch unsuspecting fools that dare to tread into their territory.

Out of the blue, one might say, one dragon, four dragonspawn, another drake and a tall drakonid teleport in, their sapphire-like scales of different shades glistening in the light of the northern sun.  
As the group instinctively retreats, the large hulking drakonid steps forth, holding a long, sturdy and sharp spear in his clawed grasp. The tips of his thick horns practically glisten, and his glowing white eyes scan them with excessive layers of suspicion and skepticism, nigh accusingly, as if he has already delivered a verdict. Eventually, they stop on Nadel.

“I received news from one of our sentries that someone requested the release of a convict?”, he asks, the deep and gruff voice having a slight echo to it.  
“I am Warden Kaltor, head jailor of the blue dragonflight’s incarceration efforts.”

Well, seems like they inadvertently caught the big fish when they threw the net. Or perhaps it would be more prudent to state the opposite, at this rate. They are undeniably outnumbered here.  
Nadel herself is baffled, though more so at the accomplishment than the reveal.  
“What? No, that’s…that’s impossible! This drake couldn’t already have sent word. A spell wasn’t even cast!”

Kaltor snorts, a heavy, sharp and mocking noise.  
“You assume we don’t have precautions in place for this exact outcome? We are at war, little whelp. Scheming wretches like you are precisely what we have to be ready for.”

The mortal group look especially unnerved by this discovery, Thariss most of all.  
“Didn’t I say this shit would happen? Pretty sure I did. But does anyone listen to me? Fuck no.”

Cordial discussion is now more crucial than ever, in hopes of getting out of this ordeal unscathed. Nadel takes a deep breath and conducts another attempt.  
“If your sentry truly warned you of this meeting, then surely he would’ve told you that I merely seek to negotiate. I have an artifact I wish to trade, in exchange for my brother’s life. It’s a fair deal, in my mind.”

The Warden slowly paces over the area where his troops are gathered, eyes trained on the drake.  
“Deradgos, the male who opposed Malygos’ righteous call to action? You think we would release him for the meager price of a simple rudimentary trinket?”

Nadel gasps in embellished offense.  
“ _Trinket?_ How dare you?! This is a priceless device, invented by Senegos himself, unmatched among our kind!”

Kaltor halts and corrects his pose, straightening his back.  
“If that’s the case, then I believe we should simply confiscate it all.” He slams the spear’s blunt end into the snow and his affiliated dragonkin immediately spread out to surround the group. He raises his nose into the air and sniffs.  
“Ah, I can smell the stench of magical residue. Did you think we would not uncover your plot, whelp? To fight your own kind – that’s a punishable offense, you know.”

With a growing frown, Nadel snaps her fingers and transfers the artifact away to wherever she summoned it from. The rest of the team gets into battle stances, but haven’t yet drawn their weapons. Will that even work against these fiends?  
“This isn’t justice”, the drake asserts. “You can’t detain me like this, for doing nothing wrong. I was merely trying to defend myself.”

“Irrelevant. You were preparing to commit violence against one of your own and I am now witness to this heinous act. You will not elude righteousness, delinquent.”

They gradually try to back off, though there isn’t a lot of places to run. It’s very feasible to assume that the dragons are faster than each of them anyhow.  
Nadel shuts the distance between herself and the mortals, and while still viewing her compatriots, she whispers to the mercs.  
“I’m going to spring my trap. That should give you the opportunity to escape.”

The elven duo, while worried, doesn’t protest. Rax is not on the same page, looking at her confusedly.  
“What about you?”

“I’ll stay and cover your backs. Go with Stellagosa, try to find some way to contact other allies.”

The draenei stares at her and displays a scowl.  
“Unacceptable.”

Nadel faces her, looking right into the white eyes and wonders what the paladin is trying to convey. Why does she even care, after their last encounter?  
“Well, too bad. There are no alternatives.”

“Says you.”  
Rax suddenly strides forward and unsheathes Kerastha Rakkan. The dragons observe how light begins to churn in her gauntlets. Having sparred, fought and trained with her on numerous occasions, Riv and Thariss recognize what it indicates, and they close their eyes.  
“Stay back, miscreants! I am Raxeen, Vindicator of the draenei people. An attack on me will mean war with beings beyond your feeble comprehension.”

Kaltor views her with both disbelief and amusement, releasing a small derisive laughter.  
“You think your measly threats scare us, mortal?”

“Clearly, you are blind to the purging capacity of the Light. So be it.”

She promptly lifts her hand up, in line of sight of everyone involved and unleashes a piercingly bright flare. It is so intense that it disorients and temporarily blinds everyone who so much as faces that direction. Essentially, that includes all of the dragonkin, but not the elves. Seeing the opening, both of them turn and dash at the highest speed they can possibly muster, running towards the area where they know an ally is waiting.

Stellagosa, having not directly seen it, leaps out of her hiding spot and swiftly transforms into her drake form. She comes surging to the rescue and the duo immediately jumps onto her back. The drake doesn’t hesitate or wait, switches to the opposite direction and darts through the air, flying for safety. Razz, Ilca and Rax’s saber do their best to follow.

Once the dragons finally regain their eyesight and watch what happens, they can see the figures disappearing in the distance.  
“They’re getting away!”, one dragonspawn yells. “Quick, after them!”

“Don’t bother”, Kaltor informs his troops, halting their departure. “We have who we want and a mortal captive as a bonus. If they are smart, they won’t oppose us.”

As the blue dragons gradually closes in, Nadel and Rax back into one another, but realize that fighting here is futile. The drake frowns in disappointment.  
“I told you to flee.”

Rax sheathes her weapon.  
“And leave you behind? I will not repeat your mistake.”

“…you’re a fool.”

“I guess that makes two of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Takes a fool to recognize a fool, right?_  
>  _Originally, I was gonna have Rax cast that magic purging spell she used back in "The Promised Land", but I figured it would be a bit too OP to knock out like, almost a dozen dragonkin. Besides, it wouldn't stop them from chasing after Thariss and Rivaryn._  
>  _However,[Blinding Light](https://wow.gamepedia.com/Blinding_Light) is a pretty basic paladin spell that seemed much more advantageous in this occasion. Well, at least to let her friends escape. I believe Rax also used this spell against the gronn in the last fic._
> 
> _Now Rax and Nadel will have to share a cell. HOW INCONVENIENT. I can't foresee any awkward situations deriving from this._


	18. A guiding soul

Howling. Yes, Ashindra can see where that section of this region’s name derived from. Even outside of the uncompromising and deafening chaos of battle, the fjord is a tide of turbulence, a source for much disconcerting and unidentified noise. She wishes she had the ability to block it out in some fashion, to stop her imagination from going astray and ponder the morbid consequences which might await them. Sadly, her mind isn’t quite so flexible. All she can do is endure and that, at least, is an attribute she has in abundance.

After the fight on the shores of eastern Northrend, the righteous stride over the continent did not end. The Argent Crusade left the Forsaken troops to their own devices and charged into the next Scourge stronghold. A second battle ensued no more than a day or two later, as they kept trying to seize ground. Compared to the landfall, this conflict was less efficient and included more casualties. Seems the undead menace aren’t completely without tactical adaptability. Though, thankfully, they did achieve victory, even if it was hard-earned.

Due to debilitated status of their forces, they’ve had to slow down and erect a camp. During this process, people like Lieutenant Melia have had to focus on what some may deem to be their main purpose and utilize their healing spells.  
Ash won’t lie – she does find it fascinating how the priestess can be so capable at commanding troops in battle, while constantly lingering in the rear of the squad to provide support. Then again, perhaps that’s an advantage? She is less likely to fall and can make assessments about endurance from a distance.

At this time, Ash is standing in the periphery of the camp, having accepted a guard shift. This type of responsibility was, technically, beneath her when she was a member of the Blood Knights, but this is a new Ashindra. She isn’t really bothered by a task which involves nothing but standing around for a while.  
Though, saying that, she isn’t doing an exemplary job. She finds herself somewhat…distracted by other elements. If one were to inquire, she would definitely deny the claim; emphatically so.

The medical tents have been assembled in the middle of the area, which isn’t too far from where Ash is stationed and with Melia still performing her own duties, the blood elf gets the chance to watch her, even if from afar.  
She observes how the human uses her connection to the Light on some soldiers that are lying on makeshift beds constructed from sheets and pillows. Once they’re healed, Melia speaks to them for a little while, likely giving advice. There’s a nigh constant gentle smile adorning her lips, both cordial and thoughtful.

This very moment, it seems she jokes a bit with a dwarf, who laughs loudly and pats her arm, making her grin in return. A similar event transpires a few minutes later, this time with a night elf.  
Melia just generally appears to exude a friendly aura, one that people swiftly take to. Not even Ash can deny the appeal, the desire to be in her company.  
Just like on the ship, the paladin can sort of notice hints of her old self in Melia, a factor she could never willingly admit. Then again, was she ever so comprehensively adored in this fashion?

Unfortunately, in her enthusiastic pursuit of her own interests, she completely fails to realize that she has been staring and not accurately performed the duty that she was assigned, which is quite a slipup. This doesn’t become apparent to her until Braktog, a large orc in her unit, approaches. He nudges her arm, taking her out of the trance she fell into.  
“Hey, you wanna switch?”

Ash just barely winces and turns towards him. She clears her throat and rectifies her position.  
“No, th-that’s alright.”

The orc folds his arms, amusement materializing on his expression.  
“You sure? Most sentries should be watching the perimeter and surroundings, not the infirmary.”

Ash blinks, acknowledges the fact that she’s facing the wrong direction and then scratches her neck. She’s starting to feel kinda foolish.  
“Uh, perhaps you’re right. I…could use a break.”

“Hah, thought so. Get some rest, Revenor.”

Ash double-checks that she’s wearing all her gear and then departs from this location. Despite the feeling that she should probably heed his advice and go relax for a bit, maybe get something to eat, she still instinctively wanders towards the sickbeds. She’s drawn to them, without explanation.  
She stops a few meters away and waits for a minute or two, as Melia treats another patient. Once the human stands up to go wash her hands in a water bowl, Ash makes her move.

“You’re very versatile. Seems your skillset is remarkably diverse.”

Melia blinks confusedly at first, before shifting into a joyful expression as she sees Ash.  
“Ah, it comes with the job, really. Been honing these abilities since I was young.” She steers her eyes to the water and makes sure that her hands are properly cleaned.  
“My mom adhered to a strict policy of discipline and support, that those with our capabilities should focus on bolstering others around us.” She gains a wistful look.  
“’Maybe the brazen warrior rushing head first into their next foe or the zealously shouting paladin spouting their righteous creed won’t openly admit it, but they need us, more than they realize’. Just one of her nuggets of wisdom. Well, bitter advice, anyhow.”

Ash chuckles, an act she rarely performs nowadays.  
“She had a point, I think. Your mother was very wise. I remember people of my own Order who used to profess similar opinions.  
And you’re certainly well-liked too. There’s hardly a person here who doesn’t end up with a smile after you’re done with them.”

The human dries her hands with one of the nearby towels and displays mild tinges of shyness.  
“Heh, well, another element of my profession, I guess. Everyone likes a healer.”

Not untrue per se, but Ash still keeps reservations regarding such a statement.  
“I dunno, I think it’s more than that.”

Melia steers her attention fully to the elf now.  
“Like what?”

Ash looks at the other woman’s face, studying the visage, especially the eyes, and shrugs.  
“There’s something about you. You’re…radiant, somehow.”

It’s unclear if that came out in an unintended fashion or not, but Melia definitely hadn’t anticipated that type of response. She tilts her head with avid interest.  
“Are you flirting with me, recruit?”

Ash’s initial reaction is to be very confused, not quite getting it. This subsides rapidly, and she recognizes how her words could be interpreted this way. It makes her blush.  
“I, uh…I’m not sure.”

Thankfully, Melia doesn’t take it too seriously. She giggles and gently pats Ash's shoulder, though she does show a modicum of embarrassment. Maybe she wasn’t so unmoved after all?  
“Thank you, Revenor. So, you’re free, I guess? You wanna help me out for a while? I could use an assistant.”

The awkward tension in the air is soon replaced by a growing hesitation.  
“What? Erm, I don’t think it would be wise to include me in your task. I can’t do much.”

Melia dismisses her concerns with the wave of a hand.  
“What? C’mon, that can’t be true. You know a couple of healing spells, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…I’ve never been particularly proficient with them.”

“Bah, it’s not that difficult. You just need to know where to push.”

“You say that, but…”

Any further complaints are quelled by Melia wrapping fingers around her hand.  
“Come, let me show you. I know you can do it, with the right instructions.”

Ash’s reluctance increases by the second, as her inherent self-doubt urges her to decline.  
“Lieutenant, it would be foolish to risk someone’s life with my inadequate qualities. I don’t-“

The priestess smiles and pulls her closer.  
“Call me Melia. Now, follow me.”  
She doesn’t wait for Ash to issue any additional misgivings, as she starts to drag the sin’dorei away.  
“We won’t practice on anyone critically injured, of course. I’ll find an apt trial for you.”  
Despite her disinclination, Ash allows herself to be taken away. Their target for this endeavor is a female tauren, who lies bandaged on a bed under the open sky.  
“This one has lacerations on her leg, which a healer could close.” She veers to address the tauren. “Soldier, do you mind if my friend here attempts to treat your wounds? She’s inexperienced, but I want to give her an opportunity.”

This woman shakes her head and tries to correct her position.  
“Not at all. But you’ll be overseeing the procedure, right?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”  
Together, the two shorter women kneel, and Melia discards the temporary bandages, exposing the grisly interior.  
“They look gruesome, I know”, she tells Ash, “but that’s just the surface. It’s nothing fatal, though a helping hand could get her back on her hooves a lot quicker. Critical injuries are far more complex and slow to mend, requiring more equipment and concentration, but a cut like this is exactly where the Light can be highly effective.” She throws a cursory glance towards the elf. “Sit down and remove your gauntlets. Best to put your weapons away too.”

Ash does as she’s instructed, but injects another piece of information first.  
“Uh, does this require intricate spells? I only know basic healing flashes.”

“That’s fine, a simple one should suffice.”

When her hands are free, Ash slides closer, shuts her eyes and calls for the Light’s rejuvenating gifts. Illumination does appear in her grasp, though the actual magic isn’t very effective. She tries her utmost, practically strains her mind, but not much changes.  
“Hmm. Think I felt a slight sting, but that might just be the pain”, the tauren explains.

Ash exhales, lowers her hand and lets her shoulders slump.  
“I knew it would end this way. I told you I can’t do it.”  
She feels a sense of internal failure, shame. Could it be that the Light hasn’t fully forgiven her for the transgressions of the past? She was never a competent restoration-based priestess to begin with.

Melia watches her, eyes filled with sympathy, as she touches Ash’s arm.  
“You might not be in the right state of mind. You’re doubting your own capacity. You fail because you believe you will.”

The paladin faces her with an incredulous gaze.  
“How can that be? I meditated on the Light, begged it to assist me. There was no response. It doesn’t serve me in this way. It never will.”

The smile offered by Melia now is a patient one.  
“That’s probably not the optimal approach”, she infers. “I’ve always found that praying to the Light makes your mind struggle too ardently. It makes you lose the required serenity. You know what you should do instead? Think of a person, a memory or a place that makes you calm, grants you some of that tranquility.”

Ash’s eyes dart around perplexedly.  
“…and what would that be?”

“I dunno. It’s your head, right? Anything you find soothing, really, that brings you hope and relief. Give it a try.”

Despite believing it’ll end in disappointment, Ash heeds the guidance and resumes her work. She searches for anything in her head, any morsel that her mind would be willing to share that could ease the tension. She feels like minutes float by, until she stumbles into it. A quick flashback comes to her, unexpected and inescapable.  


* * *

  
_Eversong Woods, southwestern coastline, on a sunny day. A pensive wind brushes against her skin, a remote song of birds entices her ears, though does not draw her from her position next to a thick and sturdy tree._  
_She stares out at the ocean, the vast field of blue, which has no answers for her. She folds her arms and her eyes continue their distant feature. A disquieting knot prods her chest, a sensation of remorse. She did something wrong, tried her best but didn’t succeed._

 _The person she couldn’t affect? Of course, it’s Vestarial. It’s always her dear sister._  
_They had been arguing again, like they do incessantly. This time, however, the conclusion was unusual. Ash admitted that it was her fault, that she made a mistake. She tried to apologize, but it was in vain. Vesta didn’t want to hear her excuse, assumed that Ash was being arrogant and simply left. Regret eats at Ash’s heart and she wonders what she can do to set this right. There has to be something…_

_Luckily, her hunt does not even have to commence, for she detects a presence in the vicinity, hears the feet stepping on the grass and the crunching of fallen sticks. Looking over her shoulder, Ash spots, to her surprise, how her twin comes walking. Her expression is ambiguous, her ponytail is flung over her shoulder and there’s some form of item hidden in her grasp. Vesta briefly glances towards Ash, but doesn’t stop._

_Ash is hesitant to begin with, unsure if she should utter anything. But if her sister chose to come here, maybe there is a chance?_  
_“Vesta, I…”_

_She lingers in uncertainty for too long and Vesta doesn’t wait. Instead of lashing out, however, she tosses one of the object she was holding – an apple. Ash just barely catches it, fumbling for a second or two. When she gets ahold of it, she looks at her sister bemusedly, as Vesta strolls up to a nearby precipice of the hill Ash is located on and sits down. As her other hand rises, the older sister notices a second apple, which Vesta starts to munch on._

_A war of reluctance and hope wages in Ash’s heart. Was this a sign, an offer of truce? It usually takes much longer, and she can’t know for sure if this will all end in misery._  
_Nevertheless, she decides to make the mental leap, despite the lack of overt answers. She approaches and takes her seat next to Vesta._  
_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know”, is the short answer. Curiously, it is followed by Vesta placing her head on Ash’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot…but I forgive you.”_

_Words she didn’t know how much she craved until this very moment. A relieved smile quickly forms, and she wraps an arm around Vesta’s back, as they both eat their fruits in silence._  


* * *

  
Suddenly, Ash’s eyes fly open again and to her surprise, the wound has closed. The tauren looks exceedingly pleased.  
“Hah, well look at that! Great job, recruit. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Another who is most satisfied, perhaps even proud, is Melia.  
“See? Told ya it wasn’t that difficult.”

Ash finds herself lost for words at first, the whole memory practically having overwhelmed her. And yet she did somehow locate the peace of mind she was searching for, a stillness locked in time. She stares at Melia with a sense of reverence.  
“You are…an outstanding teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I mean, yeah, of course. What else would give Ash peace? Sadly, it won't be that easy this time. Although that's quite a distant event._


	19. Second wind

Despite an insistence from a wide variety of people across Azeroth, there are a number of differences between the Magisters of Quel’Thalas and the magocratic state of Dalaran. Their perspectives, their knowledge, their methods and their incantations are all somewhat similar, but far from the same. Either side would readily point this out if asked, even more so after the elven nation splintered and changed.  
The chance of gaining the opposite reaction, however, is minimal, even though there are a number of notable parallels. A preference for tall towers, for example, is an aspect that neither of them can easily dismiss.

Kassari can’t even recall when she was last in a Kirin Tor facility. She remembers coming to Dalaran once or twice during her apprenticeship, but unlike some of her peers, she was never astoundingly intrigued by the city-state. Sure, it was fascinating enough, but the quel’dorei and the Magisters held a much deeper understanding for the ebb and flow of the arcane than the rather human-centric Kirin Tor, in her mind. In their current state, she wonders if that was an opinion born of pride and ego. She may not have been as derisive and conniving as her family, but she was never fully open-minded either.

Times constantly change, of course, and she knows that she must evolve to follow its whims. This is why she felt it was certainly the right decision to come here, to the Kirin Tor outpost of Amber Ledge. The Magisters may have a vast comprehension for thaumaturgical practices and libraries on such matters that are outmatched by none, but she acknowledges the fact that they cannot solve the mystery of the fluctuating arcane alone.

Compared to her previous journey, Kass is dressed in warmer clothes, wearing a set of red and gold robes, but with a warm fur-laced cloak wrapped around her, as well as gloves, a scarf and a cap. Though the latter three items are not currently equipped, as the inside of this tower is insulated by magical means.  
She’s standing in a fairly small office of some kind, on the tallest level in the tower. There are tomes, books, scrolls and spellbound items sprawled all over this room, but her focus is on the table at the center with a large map placed on top. On the other side of table stands a human, an older man by the look of his pale wrinkled skin, his shoulder-length grey hair and grey goatee. Archmage Berinand, he called himself. That’s another peculiar aspect, really – it’s very plausible that Kass is older than him, unless he has enhanced his natural age through spells, and yet she is still far away from a Magister’s title.

“Fine, so penetrating the blues’ defenses directly won’t work, but have you tried other methods?”, she asks. “I would suggest utilizing a triangulation technique. If applied properly, it can destabilize the arcane barrier they’ve erected and corrupt their foundations enough to slow any reconstruction efforts.”

The older human, wearing long purple robes with the eye of the Kirin Tor at his chest, folds his arms and sighs.  
“We’ve attempted that, yes. They don’t just have a barrier around Coldarra, but a chain of sensor runes that can detect intrusion. We managed to initiate the procedure, but weren’t fast enough. It took too much time and they intercepted us.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe your organization has too slow incantations. I could give it a try with Magister enchantments.”

Berinand rolls his eyes.  
“Arcanist Silvershroud, do you truly believe you can outmatch them? I understand your disbelief in us, but this is the blue dragonflight we’re talking about. They used magic before we even had written language.”

Kass furrows her brow and starts to bite at her lip, but has to admit defeat in this instance. It’s probably true that a mere Arcanist couldn’t singlehandedly surpass dragons that are so intricately interwoven with the ley lines of the world.  
She is on the verge of pouting at this stage, when she turns to face the third denizen in the room, which happens to be her strong and loving girlfriend, Khroga. Ever since the two became one, they rarely leave each other’s side and Kass often looks to the orc for support and comfort. In this case, however, the shaman can only offer a smile and a shrug. Oh well, at least that expression makes her feel better.

“I suppose I will acquiesce to your point”, Kass confesses, “but we can’t give up. There has to be some way to circumvent it. The ley lines must be restored, or we’ll never be able to cast portals again.”

“And I’m not here to disagree, Arcanist, but let me reiterate – the sole plan we’ve concocted so far that comes even close to solving this issue, involves sending a team to infiltrate the Nexus. The problem lies in finding not just willing participants to take the risks, but capable individuals that can achieve our goals.”

Kass lifts a hand to pinch her nose, looking troubled.  
“And whomever does this will be too exposed. The blues will swarm them in a matter of seconds.”

“I’d be willing to volunteer, if you need more people”, Khroga informs them. “I’m not exactly the infiltrator type, but I’ve certainly got experience with dicey scenarios.”

The elf immediately veers to her girlfriend and her eyes begin to shimmer with further uncertainty.  
“I’m…not sure that’s wise. I think it’s best if you stay with me.”

The two women gaze at one another, and while Kass’ words aren’t unwarranted, it’s fairly obvious to both that her opinion is based on the fear of endangering her girlfriend and not a logical assessment.  
Before they can discuss the matter further, however, they hear a bit of commotion from the corridor outside the room, as if someone is attempting to push past the guards that protect the door. They can hear loud voices, but it’s difficult to determine an identity.

With a flurry of astonishment, they see how a pale elf invades the room through a teleportation spell, though the Kirin Tor guards are soon after her. One might assume it’s a quel’dorei based on the blue eyes, but the long azure hair flowing behind her creates other assumptions. Her arms are seized by two humans, but she still tries to struggle.  
“Let me go, dammit! I demand to speak with Archmage Berinand and I will not take no for an answer!”

Both Khroga and Kass are rather surprised by the appearance.  
“Wait, is that…a blue dragon?”, asks the mage. Kass cannot just feel this aura, but see it through her eyes that are attuned to the arcane. No elf, even the most talented Magister, would exude such a natural haze of magic.

“No need to worry”, says Berinand calmly. “I know this one. It’s Stellagosa, one of the non-hostile members of her flight. What I don’t understand, though, is what she’s doing here, seeing as how we rebuffed her and her sister’s last suggestion. Or is there a new foolish idea in the making?”

His words would indicate that he’s conversing with his guests, but the tone is definitely loud enough for the drake to overhear. She’s already annoyed by the fact that she’s being physically held back, but this attitude merely helps to exacerbate her aggravation.  
“I’m standing right here! Don’t pretend I’m not, Archmage!”

She’s about to make an additional statement, but that’s when two more people walk in after her. One of them speaks up.  
“Kass?”

The ears of the Arcanist perk and she glances towards the doorway, before widening her eyes at the revelation.  
“Rivaryn!” She rapidly discards all notions of formality and immediately approaches her sister to embrace her. The hunter returns the gesture, naturally. “What are you doing here?” Once she peers sideways, she spots another familiar figure. “Oh, Thariss, you’re here too.”

The kaldorei smiles and shrugs.  
“Aren’t I always?” She waves her hand at the shaman across the room. “Hey Khroga. You’re up in all this cold nonsense too, huh?”

She chuckles.  
“Obviously. What would the Silvershrouds be without us?”

The bewilderment has now transferred from the guests to Berinand himself.  
“So, can anyone tell me what’s actually going on here?”

Kass clears her throat and corrects her robes.  
“Oh, of course. Archmage, this here is my older sister Rivaryn and her girlfriend, Thariss. They’re fighters, mercenaries and good people. Uh, not necessarily in that order.  
We worked together back in Outland.”  
Suddenly, her senses notify her of an aspect that is awry.  
“Wait, aren’t you missing someone? Where’s Raxeen?”

Riv’s ears tilt down in mild sorrow, while Thariss scratches the back of her own head.  
“Uh, yeah, about that…”, says the warrior.

“She’s in trouble”, states Stella. “A real one, this time. Raxeen and my sister were both captured by our dragonflight. They’ve been brought into the same prison as my brother. We need your help to free them.”

Berinand stares at her in a confounded and irritated fashion.  
“Wait. Do you mean to tell me that you went through with this foolish plan of yours after all?”

The drake stares at him with most dissatisfied eyes.  
“We did, but I take umbrage at anyone calling it ‘foolish’.”

“Too bad, for I can assign no other description. Not only has your sister gotten herself captured, but she has victimized another poor innocent soul.”

“Yes, fine, I realize that this is an unfortunate scenario and it wasn’t an actual element of our plan, but…the events during the outbreak were too chaotic to predict.”

The human sighs heavily at this news and rubs his eyes in an agitated fashion.  
“And you are surprised?” He soon steers his attention to the guards and dismisses them with a quick wave. They let go of Stella, who sullenly caresses her wrists. “We did warn you that it would be virtually impossible to anticipate every contingency. It’s why we rejected your proposal. Why didn’t you listen?”

Stella frowns and crosses her arms.  
“If that is the case, then shouldn’t you have aided us to begin with to increase our chances, rather than dismiss us out of hand?”

“Quite the opposite. I’d say this blunder proves our assessment. Or do you expect me to change my mind?”

“What’s done is done, Archmage. But we have created the opportunity you doubted. This is why we have to go save those two, now more than ever!”

Regrettably, the skepticism previously offered to her from the Archmage doesn’t diminish now.  
“I don’t wish to disappoint you too early, but the answer will very likely be the same. The Kirin Tor can’t risk its current preparations for the sake of a few trivial drakes. I’m sorry.”

A gasp is emitted, one of both anger and shock.  
“Trivial?! How dare you!? That’s an insult to our dignity and identity! We gave you valuable information when we first arrived, as a sign of goodwill, and this is how you repay us?!”

Before things get out of hand, Kass interferes.  
“Let’s slow down the bickering, shall we? I’m not at all informed of this situation, so I’d appreciate if someone brought me up to speed.”

She’s not the only one with questions. Both Thariss and Riv seem a little confused.  
“Uh, yeah, I’m starting to get kinda leery as well over here too”, says the night elf.

“Are you saying this was part of your plan, Stella?”, asks Riv.

The previously fierce determination that the drake had showed now evaporates a little, but she doesn’t respond. The human snorts.  
“The sisters duped you, did they? Why am I not surprised?”  
Despite his reluctance, Berinand gestures for everyone to approach the table again. He relays the entire story regarding Malygos’ summit, the rebuke from the Azurewings and Deradgos’ arrest, before getting to the main problematic factor.  
“Only a week or two after this event, lady Nadelgosa and lady Stellagosa came to us with a proposition. They believed that they had a solid plan for how to free their brother and offered it to me and the rest of my mages at this outpost. Regrettably, their idea was reckless and unreliable, so we had to refuse them.”

Stella looks hesitant, though not staunchly opposed to description.  
“I…disagree. It was hazardous, but not reckless. Not the strongest one, but still a plan.”

Berinand snorts.  
“Is that so? And I suppose the fact that getting these two women’s friend imprisoned is just an unfortunate miscalculation that couldn’t possibly have occurred otherwise?”  
The young drake glares at him, but stays silent again.  
“You see, Nadelgosa and Stellagosa had an enchantment crafted from intricate calibrations and coalesced rare materials which connects them, allowing the two to sense each other’s presences. The older sister approached us together with Stellagosa and presented us with a proposition – if the Kirin Tor seeks a way inside the Nexus tunnels, we can open the correct passageways from the prison. Nadelgosa would get herself imprisoned, but by utilizing her sister’s link, we could teleport directly to that location and free their brother in the process, while sabotaging for the blues. However, this spell can only be unleashed past the defense barrier, so a large-scale operation would still be required.”

This piece of news appears to capture Kass’ interest, whose eyes shimmer intriguingly.  
“Really now?”

At the same time, it also shocks both of Stella’s comrades.  
“What the fuck?!”, Thariss exclaims. “This wasn’t what you told us!”

The drake wasn’t ready for this outburst and she flinches slightly, while raising her arms. Her expression displays shades of guilt and remorse.  
“P-please, don’t be angry. I…I sincerely apologize to you. I wanted to tell you, I did! But Nadelgosa…she insisted we had to stay silent. She knew you wouldn’t approve and might try something foolish to stop her from sacrificing herself.”

Riv rubs her chin in thought, seeming less outraged than Thariss.  
“Well, evidently, she was correct.”

“After the Kirin Tor refused to cooperate, we needed mortals as bait, so that we could ensure that my sister would be taken into the depths of the prison. But we genuinely didn’t intend for Raxeen to be apprehended with her.”

Thariss scoffs and scowls at the drake.  
“Well, you fucked up there, didn’t you?”

“Hmm. I am also disappointed that you omitted the truth, Stella”, Riv confesses, “but we can’t ignore that Raxeen made this decision on her own. Nadel was telling us to get out.”

This argument impedes some of Thariss’ indignance.  
“Eh, true, I guess. She didn’t know this was under false pretenses, though.”

“Where is this prison?”, Kass wonders.

“It’s supposed to be underground”, Riv clarifies, “beneath the surface of Coldarra, or so we’ve heard. It’s connected to some sort of network called the ‘Nexus’, apparently.”

This little detail is what intrigues Kass. She strokes a hand thoughtfully over her cheeks.  
“To the Nexus, you say? What a coincidence – we’ve been looking for a way to access that facility.”

They hear how Berinand exhales.  
“Now hold on just a minute. This arcane prison is nowhere near the wing which we want to penetrate. This complex is almost completely detached and the few links that exist are minor arcane lines, to share power. You can’t physically access the core from the prison.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve viewed the blueprints. It was provided to us decades ago. The Nexus network is extensive, with multiple branches and facilities, but the core structure is beneath the main fortress at the center. The prison is in one of the side wings and to protect the cave system from being completely infiltrated from below, each section is separated, with only arcane coils installed in between. They operate under the same power grid, but you can’t access one wing from another.”

Kass considers what she’s being told, brushing her fingers over her lips as she ruminates on the information.  
“So, this prison has nothing of value? No interesting mechanisms or weaknesses that we can exploit?”

Stella now resumes her scowling.  
“It does, actually. Doesn’t it, Archmage?”

The response from Berinand is delayed, and he nervously strokes his beard, no doubt due to knowing that the drake is correct.  
“I…didn’t say it was worthless. Yes, certain minor controls and command devices can be acquired, though nothing that can help us disable the disarray in Azeroth’s ley line system overall. Such powerful instruments are solely available in the core.”

Kass turns her gaze down, towards the map, and runs her fingers over the view of Coldarra. It isn’t very detailed.  
“But then the question is, could this prison provide us with an opportunity to disrupt the outer defenses of the island?”

Before the human can even think to respond, Stella interjects.  
“Undoubtedly, yes. It’s true that nothing critical is found down there, but as the Archmage so accurately identified, the various wings do share a power network.”

“That is…not false”, Berinand reluctantly concedes.

“Then isn’t this exactly what we’ve been searching for?”, Kass inquires. “If we access the prison’s energy output, we can cause a disturbance in the defense grid. This could grant us an opportunity to dispatch more people and plant a concealed base inside of Coldarra itself.”

The Archmage still has an abundance of misgivings, observed through his skeptical shrug.  
“It is plausible, but you’re forgetting that the defense barrier is still active. Any team that try to break it to reach the prison will be noticed instantly.”

“Can’t you create a diversion, though?”, Thariss wonders. “If one team infiltrates, another can try to steal the blues’ attention.”

“Yeah, that seems like the easiest route”, Khroga agrees. “The Kirin Tor has a bunch of red dragon allies, right?”

Berinand places a hand along his cheek, tapping at it with his fingers as he ponders the prospect.  
“Well...none of this is impossible, sure, but it’s merely the first stage. Whomever we send would be at risk, both dragons and mortals. And entry to the prison-”

“Can be achieved using my enchantment, like we discussed”, Stella interrupts. “Although uh, I will admit that a few complex thaumaturgical calculations will have to be employed. I might need assistance.”

“I’ll help you”, says Kass. “If you, me, Thariss, Riv and Khroga act carefully, with perhaps a bit of aid from a Kirin Tor squad, we could break in, produce a malfunction in the system and escape, before most of the blues even notice we were there.”

Khroga nods.  
“Teleport inside, fight our way to the cages and then split up, where one half frees the captives and the others locate a source for the energy.”

“Not easy, but doable”, Riv assents.

“Not to mention that the prisoners themselves will be most eager to assist us”, Stella points out. “Our brother is not helpless. In his proper dragon form, he’s a powerful and dangerous foe. Though he may be injured at this time…”

“And let’s not forget Rax’s affinity for the Light. She’s able to purge magic, if given enough time to prepare.”

While she’s not entirely opposed to this debate, Thariss looks a little sullen.  
“Still not sure I feel comfortable ‘bout it, though. I mean, we were tricked.”

“That’s…very true”, Riv concedes. “I won’t pretend that I’m not upset. But I wonder if this will truly help us.”

“It won’t”, Kass insists. “I realize that I do not have all the facts in whatever happened during this debacle, but I can assure you that Raxeen will remain jailed unless you act.”

She doesn’t seem particularly pleased with this outcome, but Thariss sighs and raises her arms in defeat.  
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got a point.”

Stella approaches Thariss and gingerly caresses her arm.  
“I swear, upon both mine and my sister’s honor, that we will find some way to make up for this. Nadel may not have expected this result, but she won’t let it stay ignored.”

The women in the room all seem to be heading towards the same conclusion and they have arrived at a stage where they believe this might be an operation they can succeed with. Unfortunately, Berinand is still dissatisfied with the direction of the discussion.  
“I’m sorry to say that I remain unconvinced that this is worth it. At best, we may get more casualties in our midst and no more than a very shaky chance at temporarily disabling their barriers. If we fail, not only will we lose a substantial number of operatives, but the blues may attempt to track down Amber Ledge. The red dragons would probably withdraw their support if this mission goes amiss.”

After the acceptance that was growing, disappointment now materializes among the group, as they had been hoping everyone was on the same page. The only one who refuses to curb her expectations is Kass, who attempts to push.  
“Can you really afford to delay, Archmage? Sitting around here and spying until an opportunity might one day present itself in the unknowable future will not be enough. What happens if the blues succeed before we do? The Magister Order sent me here to investigate and they would demand that we pursue a solution if its within our grasp. If not, they will question our partnership.”

Berinand squints at her and places his hands on the table.  
“Are you blackmailing me, Arcanist?”

Kass straightens her back and moves her arms behind her. Riv gets to view the confident and proud posture of her younger sister, one who dabbles in the circles of power quite often. It’s a side that the hunter has never shared.  
“It’s a gentle reminder that my organization has offered your city-state aid on numerous occasions in the past, through resources and expertise, Archmage.”

In spite of all his questions and hesitation, Berinand relents.  
“You can be persistent to an infuriating degree. Fine, the Kirin Tor will commit forces to this task, but only once. If it fails, you can forget any further chances.”

Even if he isn’t satisfied, Stella unmistakably is, and she smiles as she approaches the other mage.  
“Thank you, miss Kassari. Your support means a lot to me. The Azurewing Repose won’t forget your kindness.”

Riv mirrors the expression and squeezes her littler sister’s shoulder.  
“Yeah, thanks Kass. I’m glad you’re here. Hadn’t anticipated it, but we couldn’t do this without you.”

In response, Kass hugs her sister once more.  
“I’d never abandon my sister or your friends. Besides, I won’t let Malygos think he can toy with us forever. We will break his hold on this world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If you recall in the earliest stages of Ashindra's half of the story, Kass was going to investigate this very subject for the Magisters, so yeah, obviously she came here._   
>  _And yes, this is pre-establishing of the Transitus Shield, meaning this mission helps them with planting it._


	20. Penance

‘Relentless’ wasn’t really a term that Ashindra would’ve initially ascribed to the Argent Crusade, based on what she had seen of their organization back on the eastern continent, but it is evident to her now that perspectives change once you traverse the concepts of battle and retribution.  
The army of Light, that they can undeniably be deemed as, move ever close to the heart of Northrend, towards their ultimate goal far in the north. It’s already unnervingly cold where she is. What will it be like up in those hellish fields of ice and death?

For now, thankfully, they’ve had to quell their expectations and enthusiasm. Both the Alliance and Horde, who are here simultaneously, have not just ran into problems with the Scourge, but also each other. Apparently, they will not waste a single opportunity to fracture possible alliances, in order to gain what meager leverage is accessible. While the majority of the crusaders would no doubt prefer to leave the children to their squabbling, the leaders know better. They’ve dispatched a few detachments to either side, with the ostensible goal to promote peace.

It’s nonsensical even to Ash that either of them would allow this dispute to exacerbate and corrode their footholds, especially out here where death lurks beneath every shadow. Perhaps that’s giving them too much credit, as it appears they will not relax. Could peace be nothing more than an illusion, a pipe dream? It’s of course their prerogative if they wish to embrace oblivion, but she always figured they were a bit brighter than that.

Meanwhile, in the current camp that has been erected, Ash is enjoying a lunch break with her squad, even if it might be generous to claim that the paladin is present in whatever conversation ensues. Her eyes are drawn to a different sight, that of their leader. Melia rarely just unwinds it seems, for she constantly tests her limits in order to aid other members of the Crusade. Ash has seriously begun to contemplate if she’s somehow a blessing sent by the Light itself.

Today, the Lieutenant is holding some kind of prayer circle with a bunch of people, hoping to raise morale after recent losses. Humans is the predominant race among the attendants, but a few dwarves, high elves and even a couple of blood elves have joined her as well. While Melia would happily invite anyone, the other races tend to focus on their own beliefs and she would not begrudge them this choice.

One might assume that Ash sits with them, but that would be an erroneous supposition. Instead, she watches them from afar, munching on a piece of hardened bread and preserved fruit. Occasionally, she washes it down with a cup of wine that she was granted by a generous soldier. Not an Eversong variety, but she won’t complain.  
She may be seated in the unit’s company, but their discussion is no more than ambience to her. Braktog, the orc that she has somewhat befriended, jokes and quips with his fellow troops, which for now is a tauren, a draenei, a troll and a kaldorei. But he is not oblivious to her lapsing presence.

He redirects his eyes towards her, easily discerning what or who has captured her attention. The more time they spend together, the further Ash appears to be captivated with the human.  
“Hey, Revenor”, he says. “How’s the grub?”

Ash can’t ignore when her name is spoken, but she struggles to conceal her avid fascination for their commander. She likes these people, but still feel a little awkward while chatting with them. Only Melia receive her sincerity.  
“It’s decent. Equally edible as it was yesterday.”

“Heh. Just edible, huh?”

“Well, the bread could be less stale, and I wish we had a wider assortment of available fruit, but I wasn’t expecting a buffet. The wine is nice, though.”

He chuckles, but not mockingly.  
“Could always go talk to the mages, if you want. See if they can’t conjure a feast for us.”

She swiftly shakes her head.  
“They need to preserve their stamina and mana for future battles. Anything else would be a waste.”

“Fair enough. What about getting a bowl of the soup that chef made?”

Ash slowly steers her gaze towards the vestiges of a cooking fire, where a large black pot is still suspended, its surface having stains of the brown and yellow liquid that previously trickled down during the boiling process. It’s presumably lukewarm by now. The elf grimaces in an overtly disinterested manner.  
“I’ll…pass. That swill was vile when I tried it two days ago. I’ll settle for solid food.”

He emits a short laughter, a rumbling sound. From what she has experienced so far, this orc is easy to entertain and quickly finds joy in most scenarios, no matter how dismal.  
Another idea suddenly emerges in his mind and he skids closer to speak to her in a quiet and smug tone.  
“Maybe you should talk to the Lieutenant, see if she’d like to share something. You looked pretty…thirsty when you ogled her earlier.”

Ash widens her eyes and her cheeks redden to unveil the agitation and embarrassment that develops inside of her. She’s not sure she has ever spent time with someone so bawdy.  
“…excuse me?! I…I don’t know what you’re i-implying here!”, she states in a mildly indignant fashion.

Braktog merely grins back at her.  
“Yes, you do. I’m not blind, Revenor. I don’t know jack shit about elven dating rituals, but any idiot can identify a lovestruck fool.”

She’s not sure what to tell him. Ash hasn’t been able to ascertain her own perspective on the matter and her heart never maintains one position. Is there a craving embroiled in this jumbled situation or does she just covet familiarity?  
Either way, she’s not going to be goaded into revealing her innermost predicaments. She swiftly shifts away from him.  
“I assure you that my interest in the Lieutenant is purely out of friendship, nothing more. She’s a good person and I admire her.”

She’s relieved when he decides to retreat, holding his hands up in the air.  
“Alright, if you say so. Not gonna push ya or anything.”  
His statement is unambiguous, but she listens to his tone, easily distinguishing his disbelief. He’s confident that there is more and nothing she says can convince him otherwise. What does he know anyway?  
“But you can’t pretend you aren’t intrigued by whatever they’re doing over there. You’re a believer in the Light too, right?”

Hoping to soothe her racing nerves, she grabs another bite of the bread. Her parents always lectured her to not speak with her mouth full, but she doesn’t care.  
“Certainly. It is our savior from the darkness, the comfort in the face of devastation.”

“Then why don’t you join ‘em?”

She falters at first, for his statement, while terse, is not wrong. What would be so awful about accompanying a new friend in seeking solace?  
“Because…it would be unwise.”

Her reply is puzzling to him and he tilts his head slightly, arching a questioning brow.  
“How so? Are you not allowed?”

“I am.”

“Is there something in your faith that prevents you?”

“Not exactly, no.”

The orc raises his arms in befuddlement.  
“Then what’s the problem?”

Ash sighs heavily and gingerly gazes towards Melia again.  
“It’s…a complex issue and I don’t really want to get into it right now. Suffice it to say, it’s better if I maintain distance. They don’t need me barging in.”

Very few answers are offered, so it’s not at all strange that the orc is so perplexed when he looks at her.  
However, in a very timely fashion, they notice how Melia takes a short break after the latest verse is finished and uses it to glance in their direction. Delight glimmers through her eyes and she gesture with a hand for Ash to come over. The blood elf hesitates, momentarily trapped in indecision, but eventually chooses to shake her head. Melia nods, not wanting to force the issue.

“Seems like someone doesn’t agree”, Braktog is quick to point out.

It’s irritating how insistent he can get to interfere with concerns that are not his, but Ash makes the smart move and ignores him. She has landed on an option and she won’t be dissuaded from this route, no matter how convoluted it is. Her tension eases once he resumes his conversation with the team.  
That said, the little sermon finally ends minutes later and as Ash has conveniently finished her meal, she approaches, much to Melia’s contentment.

She detects the speeding of her heartbeats once more and scolds herself. She’s not getting giddy already, is she?  
“Your flexibility seemingly knows no bounds, just like I presumed. Can even oversee whole sermons without missing a beat.”

Melia giggles and shrugs, trying to make it casual and not conceited.  
“It’s what happens when you’ve got experience. After so many years with the church, it’d be pretty stupid if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Fair point. Have you received actual training, though?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Mom used to instruct me how to conduct them in an officially capacity since I was a kid and I’ve attended more than I could count. Think she always planned for me to inherit her position. Used to quiz me during dinner after the occasional service.”

A fleeting and pensive smile forms on Ash’s lips and she crosses her arms.  
“Sounds like you’re more qualified than anyone here.”

“Heh, doubt that’s true, but I guess I can’t deny that I've got skill. Some of the soldiers spoke to me and they apparently recognized mom’s name. Pleaded with me to hold a few group prayers. I wish I didn’t have such a bleeding heart, but I can’t dismiss an earnest request like that.”

Ash dips her head out of respect.  
“An admirable sacrifice. Just another piece of evidence what a great person you are.”

Melia is amused by the praise, and she doesn’t discard it, though it clearly makes her feel a tad coy. Soon after, she gently nudges her shoulder into Ash’s side.  
“Hmm. If you’re so eager to laud my actions, why didn’t you come over, huh? There was space for you too, you know. I’d have welcomed the company.”

A tentative pause follows this inquiry. Ash diverts her eyes and rubs her neck.  
“I uh…I noticed, but I didn’t feel like I belonged in that crowd.”

An unanticipated reply, as Melia appears fairly confused.  
“Why not? Wait, did it have something to do with the other participants? If you’re afraid that the high elves will make a big deal of your presence, you shouldn’t worry. We actually had a few blood elves there too and-“

“No, that’s not it”, Ash interrupts. “It has nothing to do with their stances or perception. I simply…” She swallows and squirms a little, languishing in insecurity. “I just don’t belong. It’s…personal.”

Her discomfort does not escape Melia’s notice and concern washes over the human. She plainly wishes to dig for conclusions, but reins herself in. This isn’t her territory to seize.  
“Well, I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to extract the truth from you, but…is there anything I can do to help?”

At first, Ash lifts a declining hand.  
“No, I….” She halts. This reaction was reflexive, a reception she’s been honing for months now and it has possibly become ingrained in her soul. But Melia is not like many others. She has an intrinsic appeal and a spirit that radiates with kindness. Perhaps taking a risk isn’t always foolish?  
She takes a quick look around the area and gathers enough courage to dare question her own doubt.  
“Actually, Lieutenant…”, she starts quietly.

“Melia”, the human gently corrects her.

The paladin’s bright green eyes swerve towards the tender grey ones of the priest and she inclines her head in recognition.  
“Melia, do you…do you believe that transgressions of the past can be forgiven? Can crimes of severe degrees ever be absolved?”

Melia is surprised by such honest and yet vague notions of something being flawed in the paladin, an inclination that practically seeps out of Ash. A huge array of queries forms in her mind, but digging into them while the paladin exposes her heart would be wrong.  
“Erm, yes, I do believe it’s feasible, if one is willing to seek penance and atonement. Redemption won’t come by itself. The guilty must commit and make great efforts to achieve it.”

Ash’s gaze is fixated on her for several intense moments, but eventually drifts elsewhere. She nods slowly.  
“I agree, but the road to that goal is not just long and arduous, but one I’m not sure that I could orient.”

Almost every word she speaks conjures another mystery and Melia now has to know. Unfortunately, she never gets that far.  
“Lieutenant Haven!”, a firm and ardent voice exclaims. “There you are. I’ve been searching for you.”

The two women immediately turn to the voice and Melia is surprised by the appearance of the older man that approaches. His grey hair and beard flutter in the wind and his golden armor gleams in the faded sunlight.  
“Highlord Fordring?” She rarely gets an audience with their commander, due to how busy he tends to be, but she catches herself in her negligence and salutes. Ash follows suit.  
“What can I do for you, sir?”

Tirion offers an ephemeral version of the same greeting, but he seems to be in too much of a hurry to let it linger.  
“Is your unit in good condition and fully prepared?”

“Of course, sir. Always.”

“Excellent. I require a skilled squad such as yours for an important mission. Some of our people recently got lost in a Scourge tomb to the north of our current location. They were on a vital quest, to acquire an artifact which I believe will be of use against the nerubians. They haven’t returned, and I fear what might’ve befallen them. This is a dangerous assignment, so I do not wish to make this a command, but…”

Melia slides her arms behind her and straightens her stance.  
“I understand completely, Highlord. My team volunteers.”

Tirion looks most pleased.  
“Splendid! I knew I could count on you, Haven. I shall speak with two more squads that I hope will join you.”

In the meantime, Melia glances sideways at Ash, displaying a faint smile.  
“Unless you’ve got objections, recruit.”

Ash clears her throat in a bashful fashion.  
“None, Lieutenant. But…are you sure you want to bring me on a task this crucial?”

“What kind of question is that? There’s no one I’d trust more at my side.”

The candor and vigor with which she speaks sends a tingling sensation of elation into Ash’s chest and this reaction is exhibited over her lips. They can do this, together.


	21. Clipped wings

During her relatively lengthy life, Raxeen has witnessed a wide assortment of prisons on a whole array of different worlds. Torturous dungeons, austere boxes, contaminated pits, pocket realms saturated with harmful energy and more. Her own people have maintained a few on their various vessels, though such holding cells would likely be deemed as far more merciful.  
She has visited, raided, liberated, shattered and blessed such facilities, each action depending on the nature of the world and the location. What she has never experienced, up until this very day, is to be detained herself.

The type of jail which the blue dragons utilize can’t really be called unique, though definitely unusual. Not too many of the species she has encountered throughout her travels employ such highly concentrated magical power in their cages. She can feel the arcane residue in the air before they’re exposed to the sight, practically smell it. Thariss has described it as a distressing, nigh unnatural stench, while Rivaryn has the opposite response, finding the fragrance to be refreshing. Rax is somewhere in between, identifying it as acute and unmistakable, though not necessarily unpleasant. Like certain spices she has savored.

A short time later, as she is guided into the bowels of these underground tunnels, the lights begin to manifest before her, in shades of purple and pink. Rows upon rows of carefully conjured barriers have been cast outside of regimented and simplistic cubicles. It’s not just horizontal, but vertically too, as there are multiple levels.  
These are not mere physical lairs, but contraptions forged through a combination of sorcerous energy and finely crafted metal. The ‘doors’ are made of arcane power, but does that make them more efficient or vulnerable to malfunctions? It likely depends on the foundations of the spellcrafting enacted to summon such pens.

Nevertheless, Rax and Nadelgosa are marched through the long and thick corridors, their footsteps – or hooves, in Rax’s case – emitting overt echoes. Their wrists are of course handcuffed and tied to chains, more items devised from enchanted means. Kaltor, the drakonid and apparent Warden of this containment zone, walks in front of the two, but he’s not alone. Several dragonspawn flank them and even what they assume is as a dragon in elven form treads behind them, probably as a final safety precaution. Rax is unsure whether she should be flattered or not. Do they perceive her as a direr threat or is this standard procedure?

Along the way, Nadel remains silent for almost the entire trip, with her head and shoulders slumped. She’s not even trying to scour most of the cells, but the reason for this negligence soon becomes evident. Suddenly, she lifts her head, swerving towards a specific direction where she detects a familiar source of life. Rax glances at her companion and studies the intensity, before she too veers to examine what the drake has discovered.

In one of the enclosed spaces at the bottom, they spot a male elven form, but slightly less pale than Nadel. He has long azure blue hair, which hangs in a disheveled state over his shoulders and back. He wears a set of black cloth pants, but his upper body is bare. Contrasted with some of the other captives, he is not permitted to roam, as his arms are held up in chains in opposite angles and he’s sitting on his knees.

“Deradgos!”, Nadel yells and severs the previously rigid path, by rushing up to the cage. The dragonspawn all clench their fists and sharpen their demeanors even further, but Kaltor lifts his hand, sanctioning the break in protocol for now. Nadel runs all the way to the magical field that shimmers between them, but she doesn’t touch it, as she realizes it’ll presumably discharge a counterspell of some kind if she tries.  
“Oh, brother, what have these fiends done to you?”

The older dragon emits a pained groan and soon stirs from his unruly rest. He’s not necessarily broken, but clearly not healthy either. His body is marginally bruised, and he appears weaker, somewhat diminished. Once he lifts his eyes, the little sister notices that they’re bloodshot. He looks at her searchingly and perplexedly.  
“Nadel?”, he asks in a raspy voice. “What are you…doing here?”

She exhales and shuts her eyes.  
“It’s…a long and complicated story. I wish I had better news for you, but my rescue attempt was…inadequate. But don’t worry, we-“

Sadly, before she can continue her tale, a heavy and clawed grip seizes her shoulder.  
“That is enough”, says Kaltor. “Communication between prisoners is not allowed. Get back on the road, traitor.”

Nadel glowers at her jailor, but just prior to leaving the vicinity, she calls out for her brother one last time.  
“We’re going to get you out of here, Derad, I swear! Please, endure it for just a little longer!”  
When Kaltor shoves her back into position, she almost stumbles to the floor, but is thankfully rescued from such a demeaning fate by Rax, who blocks the fall with her body. Despite a modicum of embarrassment, Nadel accepts the assistance and straightens her posture. Without missing a beat, she steers a fierce glare towards their captor.  
“What in Norgannon’s name have you done to my brother?!”

The Warden, callous as ever, turns his back to her and continues his stride. He does show her enough courtesy to reply, though.  
“Your duplicitous kin was a rather abrasive captive. He did not stay put as he should and kept making inane attempts at escape. Pointless and foolish, of course, but the techniques he employed were clever and effective. He knew were to poke and prod, just enough to test the framework of our cells. To prevent such folly from being exploited once more, we had to teach him a lesson. He has now been completely confined and restricted, and shall remain as such until he knows his place.”

Nadel listens to the explanation with horror in her chest. When she looks at him next, there’s not just disappointment in her eyes, but revulsion.  
“Is this what our people has become now, Warden? Torturers and crooks, ones who torment our own kind?”

Unfortunately, Kaltor is not ashamed by his acts, quite the opposite. He faces her with equal animosity.  
“We do what is necessary to survive. If some _lowlifes_ didn’t betray all that we stand for, this wouldn’t be required.”

“We are better than to adopt such atrocities! The only traitors here are you and your lackeys, you hypocrite!”

Eventually, an appropriate cage is allocated for them – not all too immense space, but certainly sizeable enough for a drake, even more so when she’s in a humanoid shape. Once more, she’s rudely thrusted forward by the physically larger creature, though he doesn’t chain her up, not yet. What he does select to do, however, is grant her a cellmate.  
“Put the mortal in here with her. No point in wasting another slot on it.”

Rax is instructed to enter with less force and though there doesn’t seem to be any other compartments with two convicts, it doesn’t really matter all too much. They’re built humanely enough to be viable for at least half a dozen beds.  
While the paladin stops on one side, Nadel stands on the other and crosses her arms when the handcuffs are dispelled, and the barrier is established.  
“Hmph”, she blurts. “What’s this? Don’t have enough rooms in your chamber of torment, brute?”

The Warden snorts at her in an amused fashion.  
“You misunderstand, whelp. This is part of your punishment. If you are so adamant to defend your pitiful mortal allies, then you shall be trapped with one. I shall return later to…facilitate your needs.”

As he and his staff depart, Nadel indignantly strides up to the arcane barrier.  
“This isn’t over!”, she yells. “You will pay for your crimes!”

“The only misdeed here is yours, traitor. You shall languish here in regret for the rest of your existence, while Lord Malygos reshapes Azeroth.”

And with that, they’re out of audible range. Nadel huffs and kicks angrily at the floor, both infuriated and frustrated. She had hoped for a spot closer to her brother, but it seems Kaltor had added this in his equation and therefore stripped her of such a comfort.  
His presumption regarding her feelings was of course faulty, for she won’t wallow in remorse or the quality of her company. No, if there’s one element of distress, it’s probably the image of her brother being chained, and how she’s helpless to stop it.

In the meantime, Rax diverts her own gaze to their surroundings, while she stretches her arms. They did get to keep their armors, but their weapons have sadly been confiscated. Not that it would matter much, for not only is the enchanted barrier remarkably robust, but she can also detect a muting function in this room. A nullification field of some kind must have been implemented in the walls and floor, to restrict the usage of spells. Lashing out against the door would be futile.

Instead, Rax strolls up to a wall and slides down against it, attempting to find a moderately sufficient seat.  
“I have to say, when I left my looping regularity on Draenor to visit Azeroth, I never anticipated that my journey would make me a prisoner. Certainly eventful, but I had hoped being locked up was a distant risk and not an inevitability.”

With no other avenues to pursue, Nadel shifts her grievances towards the draenei, as she grows a bit vexed with Rax.  
“Don’t look at me like that, damn you. You were the one who was careless, you know. I never meant for you to become a captive as well. You should’ve listened to my advice when I told you to get out.”

Rax watches her with puzzled eyes and strokes some of her hair behind an ear.  
“Pardon? I do not quite understand what you are implying here.”

Nadel sighs in faint annoyance.  
“Must I spell it out for you? All of this?”, she gestures around the cell. “Getting captured? It was always part of my plan.”

“What? You intended to be jailed all along?”

“Of course.”

“That sounds rather…stupid.”

The drake rolls her eyes and strolls closer to her fellow inmate, so that she can lower her voice.  
“You have the wrong idea. We had it all mapped out. The plot we approached the Kirin Tor with, which they sadly rejected, involved trying to discover Deradgos’ exact location. Stella and I can circumnavigate the internal defense system of this island with a special enchantment, which she and I co-crafted. We are now intrinsically connected, though it will fade with time.”

Rax listens carefully and folds her arms.  
“How far does this…enchantment extend?”

“Stella can sense my location with a quick perception spell and with increased arcane energy input, as well as some thaumaturgical calculations, she can teleport here directly.”

Quite a clever way to infiltrate, even though it’s risky. Rax still seems skeptical.  
“So, Stellagosa can get inside this lair? And how exactly is that beneficial to us? I doubt she and my friends can easily defeat all the guards by the three of them.”

“They won’t have to. I am sure that he Kirin Tor now won’t be able to resist the lure. Those mortals want, more than anything, to sabotage Coldarra, so that they can plant a foothold here. I did not mind aiding them with this endeavor, as long as they helped us save Derad.”  
She takes a deep breath and shakes her head.  
“Unfortunately, they were shortsighted and refused my offer. Thought this plan was too reckless, that it would expose the reds and Kirin Tor to my brood. When we decided to leave, they even tried to prevent us, but my sister and I escaped.”  
She shifts her eyes to Rax.  
“And that is why we approached your team.”

With what she has said so far, Rax senses how the qualms begin to eat at her.  
“To trick us, you mean?”

Nadel wishes to oppose this accusation, but hesitates. It wouldn’t be fair to so ardently reject this conclusion.  
“Well…yes, there was an element of trickery, but nothing nefarious. We needed your assistance, so that our fellow blues would be convinced by the imperative danger I posed to them. Why do you think I set up a trap that they could detect so effortlessly?”

That the drake sounds fairly confident doesn’t really satisfy Rax, but she holds any scolding remarks back for now, until she has comprehended the full situation.  
“And why would that have mattered?”

Nadel gestures at the arcane field.  
“This specific section of the prison is where the traitors and least trustable captives are sent. To be sure that they would allocate me here, they would have to see, without question, that I was affiliated with mortals and not _just_ here to save my brother.”

Rax exhales and shakes her head.  
“Nadelgosa…”

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re going to say. We kept you in the dark and I am not entirely proud of this, but trust me when I tell you that this plan did not involve you or your friends getting captured. I secretly instructed my sister to fly you and the others out after I sprung my trap, which she could’ve done with a little bit of difficulty. She can last for shorter journeys with three passengers, such as to Amber Ledge.”

Rax suddenly lifts her hand to cease any further explanation.  
“Nadel, this is folly. Why would the Kirin Tor help you now? They have already turned you down once.”

The drake snorts and turns to the exit.  
“Because they can’t stop us anymore. The option I offered them has now been deployed and either they take the only viable alternative that anyone has come up with, or they languish in failure.”

“And you think that will prevent them from refusing?”

Nadel shrugs nonchalantly.  
“Oh, they might still do so, but they need every advantage in their war and this is their one chance. ‘Take it or leave it’, as they say.”

It’s a little ironic that Nadel would ooze with such confidence while she’s trapped in a prison cell, but Rax will admit that her audacity is…refreshing. And also a tad disheartening, of course.  
“So, we were just collateral damage to you.”

Some of her determination disperses and she looks down with a hint of remorse.  
“No, I-…Raxeen, I didn’t-…  
It is…regrettable that you had to be so altruistic. Again. I swear, I didn’t intend for you to get sealed in here with me, but I had to do everything in my power to save my brother.”

“And in your haste, you allowed us to get embroiled in your problems.”

The guilt in her increases and her shoulders slumps.  
“Yes, you have a point. I realize that this may have been…callous to a certain extent and I probably should have provided you with the truth. I simply couldn’t be completely sure that you would have given us a chance, unlike the Kirin Tor. Not after, you know…”

Their last encounter did end abruptly and Nadel was of course to blame for it. However, it isn’t possible to ignore the fact that she does radiate with a poignant measure of regret here. Perhaps she’s telling the truth. Rax wants to be angry, but…  
“What you did was hasty and aggravating, for involving us without relaying every detail. But, I suppose that I can see where you are coming from.”

Nadel suddenly blinks and steers a surprised gaze to Rax.  
“So…you agree with me?”

“Not entirely, but mostly, yes. At least you did this out of self-sacrifice, to liberate your brother. I can respect such actions. As a paladin, it is often our standard way of operating.”

The drake is a little unsure, for she had almost anticipated a fight, but this is not what she’s getting. Maybe she had judged too early once more.  
“I…thank you, Raxeen, for understanding. And I uh, I apologize for getting you into this mess. When we get out, I will reimburse you properly.”

Rax watches her curiously and a faintly amused smile appears.  
“As long as we find an exit, perhaps it will be worth all the trouble that you pose."


	22. Hand from coin

Compared to many previous days in the cold north, Amber Ledge is today actually astir with activity, both among the members of the Kirin Tor and the red dragons. The majority are getting physically and mentally prepared for the high priority mission they’re soon going to launch, and not only do they need to ready themselves up, but the mortals have to assure their dragon allies that this is a viable alternative. Some of them disagree, which is not a tenable scenario. Everyone has to be united, in order to achieve their goal.

Kassari, who has been spending most of her time inside the tower since this disorder began, now walks outside to bathe in the rays of the sun and get a bit of fresh air.  
To protect them from external threats and direct attacks, Amber Ledge is enclosed with an arcane barrier that distorts the sight around it and makes distant discovery difficult. To enhance the well-being of the denizens, it is also insulated to stave off the cold.

The Arcanist’s goal is the field nearby where she can spot two figures standing together, sparring with one another – Thariss and Khroga. Despite the hectic deliberations between the two factions, it appears that this duo may still be the loudest party around.  
Unsurprisingly, they’re not in full regalia or anything, nor are they using proper weapons, but practice tools. Thariss is garbed in a short-sleeved black shirt and blue shorts, while Khroga uses a red tank top and black leggings.

For a short while, Kass halts, folds her arms and observes the clash. She notices how Thariss is the one to perform most of the thrashing and offensive progress, which isn’t baffling. Not only is the kaldorei more experienced, but her style of combat as a warrior is far more suited to such close confrontations bereft of magical intervention. However, that doesn’t last for very long.  
Suddenly, by employing an impressively clever spell that vents lightning from her feet, Khroga drives Thariss back, without necessarily hurting her.

The warrior is surprised as she staggers and has to defend herself from the assault that follows, but she keeps it at bay with her shield. As a brief pause ensues, she doesn’t seem angry. Instead, she starts to laugh.  
“Not fair to just bust out new tricks like that, Steelfang!”

Khroga flashes a small grin, rests the wooden axe over her shoulder and the other hand on her hip. Kass inadvertently bites her own thumb, as that brazen pose is…enticing.  
“You never mentioned any rules against the elements.”

“Should’ve been implied!”

Once the battle dies down a little, they both note how the mage comes walking in her loose robes, with her hands held together.  
“What’s this, huh?”, she asks. “I wasn’t told there would be a contest. Don’t tell me you’re showing off for my sister, Thariss.”

Thariss smirks at the blood elf.  
“Showing off? Tsk. I never have to do that.” She lifts her strong and muscular arms that are currently exposed, and flexes. “Not with guns like these.”

Kass rolls her eyes, while Khroga snickers softly.  
“If that’s meant to tempt me, you’re woefully mistaken about my interests."  
That said, the pose itself isn’t one she’d contend if another woman struck it, such as the one she strolls up to now. She approaches her girlfriend, snakes her arms around Khroga’s neck and pulls her into an avid and deep kiss, feeling the tusks poking her cheeks a little. When it abates, she affectionately caresses the orc’s jawline.  
“Try to be careful, okay? Don’t want you to get injured before the actual mission has even begun.”

The shaman snorts amusedly, lowers the training axe and holds an arm around Kass’ waist.  
“Your fussing is sweet, Kass, but unnecessary. Getting the blood pumping before a real scrap is always a plus.”

The elf shakes her head in a slightly resigned fashion.  
“Agree to disagree, I suppose. Don’t blame me if you hurt yourself.”

“You won’t kiss it better, then?”

Kass can’t prevent the smile that forms now, and she raises her hand to playfully grab Khroga’s nose.  
“Don’t take cues from Thariss, please.”

“Yes, please do!”, the night elf yells from her position. “She’ll love it, trust me. Ask Riv.”

Kass sticks out her tongue towards the warrior, before she turns to a separate direction and strides to where she spots her older sister. The hunter, in spite of Kass’ prior belief, is not actually a member of the audience, for she is busy with other matters.  
As Kass approaches, she beholds how Riv is sitting on the grass with a bunch of tools in her hands and around her vicinity, while she tinkers with some kind of…device. The younger sibling has no idea what any of it constitutes. What she can discern, however, is the slumbering shape of Razz next to his companion.

The raptor reacts to Kass’ proximity, like an innate alarm, but when he notices who it is, he settles down and doesn’t even get up. Kass smiles at him and reaches out with her hand, ensuring that her arrival is approved. He sniffs it, before nudging his nose in a permitting manner. She has started to get along with her sister’s new fascinating pet since their interactions back on Outland and when she strokes his scales, he shuts his eyes and enjoys the ministrations. Not quite like patting a lynx or hawkstrider, but she wouldn’t claim it’s unpleasant either.

Two days have gone by since the mercs and the blue drake burst through the doors of the tower and Kass is dissatisfied with how little time she has had to spend with her family member, when she’s so close. Better make up for it now.  
“Hey, Rivaryn”, she utters in Thalassian. “How are you holding up? Stellagosa gave me the full account earlier and it sounds like your team was exploited quite unfairly.”

In the meantime, Riv’s emerald gaze is strictly fixated on some detailed calibrations, tweaking the position of some items with a screwdriver.  
“True, I guess, but I’m not angry with her. She told us everything and it appears that they genuinely didn’t intend for Raxeen to get embroiled. Everyone makes mistakes. And hey, at least we have a plan now, right?”

Kass nods and brushes her fingers along the back of Razz’s neck and under his jaw.  
“We do, but we shall have to wait and see how viable it is. I inspected the details of this enchantment that the drake sisters have administered.”

“And?”

“It does seem legitimately potent and powerful, though I would say it requires some adjustment to be activated.”

Riv temporarily diverts her attention from the contraption to her sister, while running the back of her hand over her forehead, to wipe away some of the sweat. She tends to keep her bangs free of the ponytail, but at the moment, all of her hair has been retracted, probably to let it remain unstained. Due to the relative warmth in here, the hunter has opted for a disposable grey t-shirt and black short pants.

“So, how it’ll work? Will we just end up right on top of them, or…?”

Kass discard such thoughts with a swaying of her head.  
“No, that won’t be-….well, perhaps it might, but with some precise revisions, we can make sure that our landing party materializes nearby. The blues must have a corridor outside the cell.  
However, like we previously discussed, we still have to physically get past the outer barrier. It blocks our passage too fiercely otherwise. In fact, this is paramount for our escape too.”

“Mm, good point. I get the feeling that penetrating the prison won’t be the difficult part. Getting out, once we’ve triggered all of the alarms, seems more dangerous.”

“Not entirely incorrect, but I sense the opposite is much more plausible. After we’ve sabotaged the defenses across Coldarra, teleporting everyone out will be elementary. Compared to the initial infiltration, the coordinates won’t have to be as meticulously pinpointed. Though, I imagine we will still require the blues’ assistance, as they can circumvent the fortifications with more proficiency.”

There are no overt signs in her voice, but a wry smile still slides onto Riv’s face.  
“Jealous?”

Kass narrows her eyes.  
“Stop it. Look, I know that I do have some of our family’s pride in me, but it can’t be hurt so effortlessly.”

Riv’s smug expression does not evaporate as she shrugs and returns to her task.  
“If you say so.”

“…don’t give me that.”

“Not giving you anything.”

“It was implied!”

“It wasn’t.”

Kass huffs, but attempts to curtail her indignance before it becomes a problem.  
“At any rate, it’s clearly a risky plan and I understand why the Kirin Tor initially refused. Now, though, Archmage Berinand is coming to terms with the necessity.”

“Only because you mentally pounded him, I bet.”

During the majority of this conversation, Riv has been plying her second trade, spinning, twisting and fine-tuning various cogs, nuts and bolts. As she has a minimum amount of knowledge about engineering at best, Kass has to inquire.  
“So…what are you doing?”

“I’m applying an energy filter to compensate for the fluctuations in the output manifold, because the coolant coils can’t limit the transmission stream which is discharged in the core and that might jeopardize the integ-“

Kass quickly lifts her hands.  
“Stop, stop, stop. I meant…what is it you’re actually holding in your hands?”

Riv blinks perplexedly as she glances down at it, realizing she hasn’t explained her activity.  
“What? Oh, right. Uh, I’m crafting a Pole Reversal Translocator.”

“…a what?”

The hunter holds up the thick disc-like object, which currently has its chassis open and the internal components unveiled.  
“It’s based on the configurations of certain magical goblin-based explosives, which functions to increase and decrease energy flow. I believe if I apply this to the prison cell’s outer shielding, it’ll expedite the disabling process, so we don’t have to scour the facility for the controls.”

Kass has now fully shifted to her sister and her arms are skeptically folded.  
“…from explosives, you say? Isn’t that…dangerous?”

“Well, yes and no. It’s not a 100% risk-free, but it could be worth a shot. At the very least, I feel like we should bring it, in case things go south.”

The mage is ambivalent to this proposal, although she doesn’t want to staunchly object to her sister’s gadgets. She has shown to be capable before.  
“Hmm. Okay, I’ll authorize it. Just be cautious.”

Riv beams as she hears those words, nodding eagerly.  
“Thanks, Kass."

“I will admit that I still do not altogether comprehend your newfound fascination for this technology. It’s so…crude and unreliable all the time.”

Her sister shakes her head and returns to previous efforts.  
“You’re wrong about the second, but the first part is sort of who I am. Not merely right now, but always.”

Kass considers protesting this notion at first, but then discards this idea and snorts softly.  
“A prudent statement, I’ll agree with that much.” Her eyes scan their surroundings with unease and then lets them drift towards the door.  
“Wouldn’t you prefer to sit somewhere else?”

“Why? What’s wrong with the grass? It’s soft and there’s no snow under the magic shielding.”

The mage sighs in discontent.  
“This is a newly purchased set of robes from Dalaran, Riv. I’d like to avoid dirtying it.”

Her sister hadn’t quite expected that complaint and tilts her head back to laugh.  
“Oh, you’re such a city girl, Kass.”

This makes the younger elf pout and ever being the contrarian, she won’t let that slide.  
“Am not!”

She fervently seeks a suitable spot, to prove her sister how flexible she can be.  
“Changed your mind? Here, let me help.”

Riv extends her hand, but Kass vehemently declines.  
“Ugh, no! I can do it on my own, thank you very much. Don’t want your greasy hands all over me.”

After finding a feasible location, she gets seated; albeit not prior to correcting her robes as to expose as little of it as possible to the greenery, which takes a couple of seconds.  
“You really are fussy, huh?”

“Shut up. And you are as greasy as a dwarf. In fact, I think you always were, in a way. I did enjoy jaunts in the woods too, but not like you. Always crawling through the mud, digging in the dirt, marching on rainy days.”  
Her expression grows somewhat distant, wistful, as she considers it for a second. Her complaints suddenly wither away.  
“I…kinda miss those moments now. More innocent times.”

It’s hard to miss the solemnity in Kass’ voice, deviating some of Riv’s focus, even if only temporarily.  
“Yeah. Feels like another lifetime.”

While Riv continues to tinker ceaselessly, Kass stares at her with pensive eyes, contemplating how separated they have become. Not emotionally anymore, but physically. There’s a whole ocean in between.  
“Riv, after this is over, you don’t have to leave for Kalimdor again”, she infers. “You could come home to Silvermoon, hang out in my apartment. I can’t even recall if you’ve seen it yet.”

A smidgen of tension manifests in Riv, though she tries to keep it in check.  
“Uh, yeah, I dunno.”

“If you don’t wish to return to the Farstriders, I could recommend your services to the Magisters. Perhaps we can acquire an investor for you. After all, you’re one of the few active sin’dorei engineers out there.”

Due to how earnest it sounds, Riv confines some of the severity of her aversion.  
“Thanks for the offer, but…it’s not for me. I don’t belong there anymore. My place is with Thariss and…well, I truly adore Kalimdor. It provides a new type of peace that I haven’t found anywhere else.”

It’s unavoidable, but Kass displays some distinct disappointment, even if miniscule. At least she’s not angry.  
“I see. I…I think I get it. I know I scared you off in the past, by being so harsh with you after…you know. Really wish I hadn’t exploded now, because except for our uncle, you’re the one I was closest to. The only ones not interested in the power struggle.”

She may be getting a somewhat rose-tinted view, influenced by nostalgia, but Riv won’t rebuff the attempt at compromise. To ease the pressure, she places a hand under Kass’ chin and tilts it up.  
“Hey, this doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other again”, she reassures. “As a matter of fact, I’d love for you to come visit us some day. You’ve hardly spent any time in kaldorei lands, right? There’s so much history and ancient magic that is bound to captivate you.”

Kass gradually opens her misgivings to the idea, though it’s curbed by some instability.  
“Are you certain that the government would allow a Magister to enter, just like that?”

Riv sports another smile, instilling them with some hope.  
“Don’t fret. Thariss’ mother is a priestess of Elune and I can talk to her. She’d permit my family to visit, I’m sure.”

“Hmm. Okay, I…think I’d like that. I’d love to discover where you roost now.”  
After planting a tender kiss on her sister’s cheek, Riv removes her hand and straightens her position, but the gentle expression soon disperses and is replaced by surprise.  
“What’s wrong?”

Riv has to raise her hand and stifle a laughter.  
“Uh, nothing! You just have um, a little…you know…” She gestures at her own chin.

Kass blinks in a bewildered manner, before realization inserts itself. She touches her chin and finds a black substance on her fingers afterwards. Riv accidentally smeared some grease on it.  
“…oh, you dolt! Look at me! It’s all over my face now!”

The hunter giggles and turns away.  
“Sorry, Kass. I didn’t mean to!”

The younger sister could act in a more dignified fashion during this predicament, as expected by a Magister…but to hell with it. She pouts and frowns.  
“You’re not getting away with this.”

She promptly pounces on her sibling, tries to wrestle her down and find avenues to tickle Riv. The hunter squirms and her laughter rise in volume, but she can’t escape.  
“No! Mercy!”

“You shall have none!”

In the distance, both Khroga and Thariss cease their sparring and begin to smile, being glad to hear and notice how the sisters get along, in a way. Both of them chuckle to themselves as the big raptor abruptly pushes his nose into the elves, wanting to get involved with the game.


	23. Fragmented salvation

For the first time since their arrival in this strange and frozen continent, Ashindra feels as if she’s getting a little in over her head. It’s not as if she has been persistently in control of her emotions up until this point, but this assignment is shrouded in instabilities. Sadly, withdrawing now is not an option.

Her squad, led by Melia of course, is prowling in the shadows outside an entrance to some sort of old vrykul crypt, not too far due east of a fortress, Gjalerbron. They’re taking cover behind a cluster of rocks, observing the open and empty entrance. The height of it is almost surreal, far above most human and elven architecture. Although, as they have already fought the enormous humanoids up here a few times so far, it’s not entirely unexpected.

Melia frowns as she stares at it, but not so much due to the design. It is the aura which surrounds it that captures her interest.  
“I can distinguish the corrupted necromantic energy seeping out of the doorway”, she notes quietly. It’s like a foul stench that invades her nostrils, making her shiver. “Has to be the right place.”  
She turns to the sin’dorei, who is sitting on the ground not too far from her.  
“Ash, can you perform a detection spell for us?”

Paladins, being the hunters of tainted menaces and evils, have more practice with directly sensing such creatures. Ash nods and does as she’s told. She shuts her eyes, puts a hand to her plated chest and prays to the Light. Like a hand snaking around her throat, the truth is revealed to her almost instantly.  
“Yes”, she states as her eyes reopen. “The Light has unveiled a whole heap of them. We’re facing a big crew inside.”

The human inclines her head, seeming satisfied.  
“We’re on the right track then.”

They are not the only two here, of course. Braktog, who’s a bit behind these two, looks at their commander with curious eyes.  
“Hey, LT, did the Highlord explain what in Grom’s name we’re actually looking for? Some kinda trinket?”

Melia shifts in this direction, facing the rest of her squad, including Braktog, and at least eight more people.  
“We’re after a tome, actually, crammed with critical knowledge. It allegedly contains markers with locations for fonts of power that belong to the Lich King, which are specifically tied to the nerubians. If we can find and dismantle these objects, we can weaken his hold on the entire continent.”

“Or so the Highlord believes, anyway”, says Ash, espousing some skepticism.

“You don’t think it’s true?”, asks the orc.

Ash inhales slowly and shrugs.  
“I don’t know. Can anything that severe truly exist? That seems like a foolish weakness.”

“Maybe”, Melia agrees, “but the sources that Fordring acquired predate the Lich King’s arrival and is tied to the Nerubian kingdom. He has only exploited the fonts to extend his reach. The Highlord had faith in the veracity and he did entrust us with the success of this mission.”

Ash pushes some of her red hair aside and exhales through her nose.  
“I…will admit that my knowledge of Northrend is lacking, so I’ll defer to your judgment.”

Before the discussion can progress, they spot movement on the other side of the nearby road, which is thankfully another Argent Crusade squad. This one is led by the group’s overall commander – Captain Gryndar Deepreach, a stout and confident dwarf. He displays a few hand gestures for Melia, a signal that they should regroup. Seeing no other alternative or reason to oppose the idea, she follows the order.

Together with a third squad, the team meets up with Gryndar behind an array of tall trees. The man himself is a paladin, former Knight of the Silver Hand and is equipped with a suitable heavy plate armor. Both his thick beard and long hair are a deep chestnut brown and he strokes the former now, while he speaks.  
“Have ye performed yer assigned tasks?”

“Yes, sir”, Melia responds, “but we saw little of note. Seems clear.”

“Same here”, admits the third leader, a male tauren Sergeant.

“Aye, it’s similar across the board, apparently”, the Captain asserts. “Sounds to me like this ruin is ripe for the taking, then. We should proceed immediately. As commanding officer, my team and I will enter first. Lieutenant Haven, yer team will back us up and Sergeant Proudbluff, ye’ll go last. Maintain constant sight on the perimeter and vicinity, and try to cast and recast various detection spells. Any questions?”

The majority of the gathered troops have nothing to say, but Melia folds her arms, looking just a little bit troubled.  
“I don’t think so, sir, but I’d like to at least recommend caution. We don’t know what’s awaiting us and the Highlord has already lost one squad.”

Gryndar snorts and swirls to another direction, facing their destination.  
“I’ve fought undead for years, Lieutenant, and the Horde before that. I’m not shaken by a wee bit of wreckage.”

Melia opens her mouth, but no protests exit. Instead, she gives Ash a quick glance – which the paladin shrugs at – before she sighs.  
“…yes sir.”

“Squad, form up on me. We move in two minutes, unless the situation changes.”

As they’re about to advance into their intended target, Melia turns to view her squad.  
“Ash, as our most defensively inclined and experienced soldier, I want you at the front. Try to coordinate with the other shieldbearers, if necessary.”

The elf briefly bows her head.  
“Of course, I’ll handle it.”

“Ishvaala and Ra’tol, I want you to reinforce Ash’s position. Braktog, assist them with your axe where you can. The rest of you, try to maintain distance and get as many shots in as possible, but avoid getting too close. We have to minimize casualties. We don’t want a repeat of the last assault, because we can’t rely on backup here. Oh, and one last thing…”  
She closes her eyes and lifts her hand. Near instantly, a glowing essence ignite in her hand, filled with benevolent power.  
“Go with the fortitude and valor of the Light.”

Everyone has to take a deep breath, as energy bursts into them. Their spirits are raised, and everyone senses a surge of rejuvenation. Priestly blessings are an enjoyable experience to receive. For Ash, it’s particularly so when cast by Melia.

The stride into the ruin progresses quickly after entry, and for the first time, the group gets to witness vrykul structural design. Large, of course, but also thick and sturdy. Lots of stone on the floors and roofs, but most of the pillars and support columns are made of dense wood. There are decorative elements too, but mostly in the shape of inscriptions along the walls, with iconography and languages that none of them really comprehend. It feels ancient, but who can tell for sure?

Interestingly, the initial level is not just empty of objects, but of people too. No one waits for them here and it is not until some in Gryndar’s squad finds a specific element that they understand why – stairs. Not just one set either, but three levels. It appears that the facility descends into the depths of the earth. Seeing no reason to ignore it, the Captain orders a plunge into the darkness.  
The further they go, the more this place seems to transition. Most of it is still explicitly in vrykul architecture, but additions of another origin begin to crop up. Could this be nerubian?  
It is eerily silent for a time and the only light that they have is a few torches and mage illumination spells that the groups can provide on their own.

Eventually, and perhaps unsurprisingly, the first ambush occurs. In the first bottom floor corridor, the group is attacked from two flanks by undead – skeletons and ghouls mostly. Luckily, because of their long experience and expertise against such creatures, the Crusaders handily dispatch them all. The team’s morale is heightened further by the fact that no one gets killed or even injured, so efficient are their maneuvers.

“Well done, everyone!”, Gryndar announces afterwards. “These fiends finally get to taste what it means to properly fight the Crusade. Onwards! Time to crush them once and for all.”

After another few minutes, they soon enter an area filled with passages, abandoned storage rooms, centers for praying and potential research chambers. Perhaps ‘crypt’ wasn’t the best description of this complex after all.  
Their courage is also marginally hampered by the fact that they discover something in one of the side rooms during their search – the bodies of Argent Crusade soldiers. Very likely the first team that Tirion sent, which is clearly smaller than this one. Melia tries to examine them with her gifts, but in vain. They are all long gone.

A second ambush happens in this very section, which once more is handled with impeccable mastery. The foes are the same as before, but the size of the undead forces is moderately larger, which appears to avail them little. Despite Gryndar’s soaring confidence, Melia begins to grow worried.  
“Captain, I’m not sure how to interpret this. I think something is going on”, she posits. “Feels like…I dunno. Like the Scourge is herding us.”

Some of the Captain’s enthusiasm is impeded, but not entirely. At most, he’s a bit skeptical.  
“Well, it’s not impossible, I guess, but I honestly dinnae care. If the Scourge are foolish enough to face true Crusade warriors, then let them be idiots. They cannae stop the Light from illuminating our way to that tome.”

A few people emit short cheers, to show their excitement and agreement. Sadly, his impudence becomes his downfall.  
It’s after a short journey down to one last floor, where they seem to have ended up in a library of some variety, that the real plot is unveiled. Suddenly, as they stride into its center, now moving with less attentiveness, their enemies pour out of the shadows. Except for the packs of undead they previously faced, they are joined by vrykul magic users and nerubian allies.

Their foes strike from three angles now and as the Captain leads from the front, he is sadly one of the first to fall. He is assaulted by a particularly large scarab-like entity and gets pierces by its huge claws. In a last-ditch effort, he unleashes all the power he can summon into his foe, which fatally wounds it, but does not prevent his death.

Melia widens her eyes as she witnesses his end.  
“Captain!” She grits her teeth as she’s both angry at his recklessness, but also distressed by the flood of panic that sweeps over the team. There is only one solution – she must curtail the chaos that wishes to ensue.  
“Crusaders, hold your ground! Reconvene on me! Sergeant Proudbluff, reinforce the gaps at the front! Ash, execute Anvilmar formation!”

“Yes, Lieutenant!”, Ash replies and decides to lead the bulwark, making sure that no undead pour through, and at the same time give opportunities for their ranged fighters to get precision shots at their foes.

“L-Lieutenant, we’re being overrun!”, a gnome mage informs her. “Should we retreat?”

Melia, together with a Forsaken soldier, drags one of their injured back, so that she can heal this person. While she focuses her abilities on this aspect, she also tries to survey the area quickly, get a feel for their situation. Is it worth departing now, to salvage their troops, or should they push on?  
“No, we have to stay! We came here for the artifact and we must at least make an attempt. We can do this! Vigilance and ferocity, people! Don’t give up!”  
She halts her healing for a moment and conjures a powerful blessing, one that she can at best cast once per few hours. It will drain her energy, but she must try.  
“Let yourselves be enveloped in the loving embrace of the Light!”

Every living creature nearby feels their energy and stamina returning, though it does sting a bit for their undead allies.  
With another priest and a restoration-minded druid, she coordinates their defenses, restoring and strengthening their forces. Simultaneously, Ash leads the melee efforts, both blocking the charge of the Scourge and occasionally counterattacking.

“Close the gap on the left flank!”, Ash calls out. “Don’t let their appearance deter you! They’re no stronger than we are! Oh, and watch your feet! The bugs will attempt to sneak past us!”

Her advice seems to help, and a lot of people follow it to the letter, reducing defensive breaches. It even goes so well that they manage to make an advance of their own, shoving their enemies back into the shadows.  
It is during this streak of luck that Braktog gazes around the vicinity, breathing heavily just after he cut down a fairly sizeable bug. He sees an object lying on top of a table several meters away. His eyes begin to shimmer.

“Hey, I see a big book on that table back there!”

Ash, who’s still doing her best to keep their fortifications intact, glances in that direction. She can spot the skulls and ancient runes imprinted on the front, and compared to most of the contents of this area, it does have a sense of increased prominence. However, staring at it upsets her stomach, like it makes her somewhat queasy. Is that because of its corrupted origin or is there more to it than meets the eye?

Regrettably, Braktog does not wait for confirmation. Seeing as how they’re in a fairly precarious scenario, he breaks formation and rushes straight towards the item and right into disaster. He does not note how some of the skeletal archers has him in their sights and he falls to the ground, severely injured by three projectiles.  
“Braktog!”, Ash shouts. “Dammit! Frontline, with me! Rescue that soldier!”

The Crusaders strain the limits of their barricade in order to get to Braktog and pull him into safety, nearly losing another two people in the process. Melia works rapidly to heal the orc and at least stabilize him, but she quickly concludes that he will not be fighting any more in this battle. After she saves his life, she analyzes their altered chances.  
Everyone else seems occupied and it’s abundantly clear that they cannot stay here for any extended periods. However, the path to the tome is pretty much unobstructed right now and it lies untouched. Gazing at it, she senses a certain appeal and aura; an opportunity, perhaps even a calling. One person could make it all the way there, with no more than a small risk. Can she really send someone else to do that, though?

She plants a hand on the druid’s arm.  
“Cover for me”, she says and rises, preparing to approach their target.

Instead of making a beeline for it, like Braktog did, she sneaks around the back, following the walls and shields herself with a Light-infused barrier. A small number of spiders still note her ploy, but she propels and keeps them at bay with bursts of holy fire and offensive prayers.  
She doesn’t know if it’s pure luck or by the grace of the Light, but she somehow manages to make it all the way up towards the tome. She scans the object and ponders what to do with it. It’s pretty large and she does not have any big bags to hold it in. She’ll simply have to carry it in her arms. And somehow, she welcomes that prospect.

It is at this time that Ash, who has been trying to keep her attention in several places at once, spots her leader standing in front of that table. She’s surprised, wondering how the hell the human managed to sneak past their enemies, but this is not her immediate concern. Instead, through a surge of comprehension, she suddenly achieves clarity and disperses the charade. She detects a sinister presence behind the tome – it is not their salvation at all.

 _“Melia!”_ , she shouts, but even with the intensity her lungs employ, the priestess does not look at her. The human’s eyes are transfixed on the tome.

With no other option at hand, Ash defies her own previous warnings and leaves her station. She sprints towards the priestess, despite the menagerie of enemies in her path. She lifts her longsword and infuses it with destructive power, slashing ghouls and insectoids apart, bashing spiders with her shield and decapitates skeletons with frantic zeal. The Light supports her, radiating around her like a beacon that both deters and draws the opposition’s attention.

Finally, at the very last second, she reaches out and seizes the human’s arm, swiftly pulling her backwards. Melia only manages to touch the book with the tip of one finger, before she’s dragged out of its proximity.  
This is remarkably fortuitous, for Ash raises her shield just in time to deflect a hidden attack – a guileful magical trap is triggered beneath.

Necromantic magic explodes from it, slamming into Ash’s tool. When it fails, a thin and tall nerubian sorcerer appears behind the table, the long malevolent claws trying to dig into them, but Ash protects the squad leader with her shield.  
Melia’s eyes widen as the tome evaporates into thin air, snapping out of her trance – it was an illusion all along. There never was a reservoir filled with knowledge, only lies to lure them here.

“Shit”, blurts Melia.  
She grits her teeth in anger and summons a beam of Light which she discharges at the nerubian, making it screech and flee without delay, getting out of view. After it is gone, she breathes out in relief and plants a hand on Ash’s shoulder.  
“I…thank you. I didn’t-…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Ash’s bright green eyes scour the human’s appearance, making sure there are no residues of malicious energy on her.  
“You weren't. I believe it was mentally seducing you with a spell. It tricked us all. We have to get out of here.”

“Agreed.”  
In their peripheral vision, they now spot more movement and from the roof, spiders begin to descend all over their troops. This is likely why the nerubians allowed themselves to be pushed back, so that they could attack from above.  
Melia frowns and summons a larger, fiercer barrier of holy energy.  
“Argent Crusade, retreat! Back to the surface!”

The soldiers obey and start to leave, before they’re overrun. There is nothing left to gain here. In sorrow, they are forced to leave their fallen behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well, I can't foresee any bad situations deriving from leaving your fallen comrades to the Scourge!_   
>  _Also, yeah, had to have a chapter with Ash rescuing her crush_


	24. Sincerity

Dismal, dull, absolutely lackluster. A few days have passed and the stay in the blue dragon prison has, without exaggerating, been extremely tedious and dreadful. Nadelgosa has been on extended flights in the past and delved into sections of research where she couldn’t tell the passing of time, but this is different. It’s nonconsensual and enforced. It’s not like she regrets her decision of coming here, but she can’t help getting worried.

What if her sister doesn’t make it? What if Stellagosa fails to convince the Kirin Tor after all? She does have faith in the young drake, despite her protective ways, which is why they executed this plan in the first place, but…

No, she can’t allow hesitation to fester. She has to remain firm and not get mired in doubts and misgivings. They’re going to rescue their brother sooner or later. That was the deal and the plan was solid. It’s a certainty.  
…probably.

For the moment, she and Raxeen have attempted to reconcile their differences and to keep themselves occupied, they’ve talked about a variety of topics. Although, both of them will admit that expanding and stretching such endeavors to any tremendous degrees has been difficult. There are simply some subjects, or at least aspects within them, that neither of the two would feel comfortable discussing. Privacy, secrecy, complications or mere embarrassment – there are many caveats. For a few, maybe all four apply at once.

Nadel won’t disregard the fact that the conversation has been enlightening. She has learned more about the draenei and their comprehensive journey, which has been utterly fascinating, more so than she had anticipated. They seem to have a diverse and exceedingly complex history. In fact, their most skilled and talented scholars may know more of the Twisting Nether and the universe as a whole than dragons do. A baffling concept to Nadel.

While Nadel ponders what to say next, sitting on the ground and leaning against one of the walls, she feels how her stomach begins to complain. This heralds a specific hour – feeding time.  
Their stories take a break as they hear how Warden Kaltor and a few others distribute various bowls and plates into the cells. Obviously, they don’t for a second lower the barriers on any cage, but instead momentarily shift the polarity of the shielding, so that the food can be pushed inside. They do not trust the inmates any more than that.

Once Kaltor and his lackeys arrive at the duo’s cell, he stops and looks practically thrilled. Nadel in particular has apparently become a new taunting target, which annoys her.  
“Ah, and here is our favorite little drake and her pet. I hope you aren’t withering away in there, for many years of monotony still await you.  
Today’s serving is…well, pretty much the same as yesterday’s. I trust you will not be too disappointed that there is no delivery of a ‘feast’. Such pleasures are not for scum.”

Nadel senses how Rax turns to her, giving her a look that says ‘don’t’, and she shouldn’t. She should keep her mouth shut, really, to save her any trouble, but she just…she can’t. Rax remarked earlier that offending her is as easy as angering a talbuk. Prod them just a tad and they’ll ram their horns into you.  
“Are you genuinely this pathetic, Warden? Is coming here personally every day to bicker all you ever do? Don’t you have anything better to occupy your unremarkable little brain with?”

He snorts sharply, but tries to stay stern.  
“Maintaining and patrolling this facility is my profession, whelp. I am its Warden and that includes involvement in all of its administrative procedures.”

She folds her arms, an insulting plot starting to take shape in the back of her mind. She shouldn’t get excited. Stop, is what she tells herself. But…  
“Ah, now I see. This is your entire value. You’re trivial and pitiful, worth nothing more to your superiors than to languish here with the dreg. That’s why you have so much spare time, because your estimated significance is zero.  
Good to know exactly what type of person I’m dealing with. I don’t believe your insults will bite me anymore, now that I know they’re hurled by a nobody; pure unmitigated _waste_.”

While she pretends to be unfazed, he isn’t capable of the same restraint. His hands and jaw clench, and his whole body begins to strain, virtually exposing the veins in his muscles.  
“You know _nothing_ about this place. This is an honorable position!”

“If it was honorable, you would be stationed among the ones who protect essential installations or the egg chambers, not so called ‘traitors’. Open your eyes ‘Warden’ – you are absolutely bereft of value, the laughing stock of Coldarra.”

She wasn’t sure at first if her intuition had guided her down the correct path, even if she had chosen to follow it, but now, there can be no doubt. As he widens his nostrils, they believe they can see smoke billowing as he huffs. The other guards show hints of fear now, worried that he might punish whomever is within sight for this insolence. Even Rax is getting dissuaded by this and plants a hand on the drake’s shoulder.  
“Nadelgosa…”, she whispers.

The drakonid shoves a hand into the wall next to the barrier and glowers at her.  
“Watch your tongue, _whelp”_ , he nigh shouts. “If you attempt to insult me again, I will install the same countermeasures that we employed in your brother’s cage. See if your tune changes.”

Nadel remains steadfast and she furrows her brow, but her brazen attitude simmers down.  
“You are vile, Warden.”

“And you belong here, to rot for all eternity.  
Guards, dispatch only one bowl to this cell. The despicable cur will go hungry today.”

The other dragonkin executes his order and Nadel continues to glare at Kaltor all the while, until he moves to the next inmate and disappears from their view. It is at this point that she breathes out, though not so much from relief as disappointment.  
“…dammit. That was stupid”, she mutters.

Rax fetches her food and glances at the drake with a bit of amusement, laced with surprise.  
“It was, very much so, but I commend your courage. You do not cower away from tyranny – I admire that.”

The drake exhales and buries her face into one of her hands.  
“Thank you. Wish that would solve my hunger, but…I shall endure, I suppose.”

The paladin proceeds to sit down on the same spot as before, right next to her accomplice. She watches the elf-turned drake, who’s now submerging herself into misery over her own irreverence. Pity settles into Rax’s heart. She shouldn’t have to suffer like this for standing up to a bully.  
Her gaze falls to the bowl in her hand – the nutritious but bland paste they received yesterday and some magically conjured bread. And a mug of water too, of course.

Instead of taking it all for herself, the draenei nudges her elbow into Nadel’s arm and then offers the bowl to her.  
“Eat.”

The drake blinks in surprise.  
“What?”

“You should eat. We will share.”

“But…no, I can’t take this.”

“You can.”

Nadel’s eyes travel to Rax’s face, searching it carefully.  
“You will go hungry.”

“Not as much as you, if you eat nothing at all. Starving will not help either of us.”

Nadel really wants to object, to push the generosity aside. She made her decision, put herself in this disastrous situation and should suffer for it. But…to do so wouldn’t just be foolish, but also ungrateful. She sighs and accepts her share.  
“…thank you; I mean it. I won’t forget this.”

“I know.”

After they start eating in silence and try to regain some energy, they wait and simply listen to the noises outside, to what’s going on around them. Kaltor and the other dragonkin proceed down the line, past every captive in here, until they finally vanish completely.  
Eventually, any other sound except what they can hear in this cell disperses and they’re given at least a fraction of perceived privacy.

Nadel senses how she cannot hold back any longer. She has to speak, no matter how silly it might turn out.  
“I…must apologize”, she states quietly.

Thinking she can predict what’s coming, Rax shakes her head.  
“You do not. I do not mind sharing.”

“No, that’s-…” Nadel groans inwardly, more irritated with herself than anyone else. “I…I meant for my mistake. For what I did. For…for trying to wipe your memory all those months ago. I know you’ve said that apologies are inadequate, but…”  
The room soon descends into stillness once more and Rax turns to watch her curiously. She wonders what’s running through the drake’s mind, what might have spurred this reaction. Nadel herself is faltering, not knowing where to look or face.  
“I’m…not sure what got into my head back then. The idea that a mortal had healed me, had used your Light, or whatever it is you employ to rejuvenate others, was…well, it terrified me. I somehow felt a connection to you, one I haven’t had with anyone else. It was bizarre, unprecedented…abnormal, I thought. Such things have never existed between myself and a mortal before. I acted on foolish impulse.”

With no more food to consume, she’s free to shrug and wave her hands around, as she searches for additional answers.  
“But”, she continues, “this obviously doesn’t excuse what was done to you, nor does an apology really help to mend your pain. And what’s worse, you were embroiled in even further calamity, in a debacle that has nothing to do with you.”  
Nadel’s shoulders slump and she buries her face in both her hands this time.  
“I really am a mess, I know. And yet you stepped in to assist me, preventing me from going alone. I don’t…I don’t deserve that level of kindness.”

Insight comes over Rax and she nods briefly.  
“It is why you grew angry during our capture.”

“…yes. I’m sorry for that too. I’m sorry for…a lot of things.  
I still don’t understand why you did it to begin with. You deserve better than to be locked up in here.”

Instead of growing angry or indignant, like she did back in their encounter within Darkshore, Rax becomes contemplative. She turns her face towards the gate, starting to consider her positions and experiences.  
“Have you ever lost anyone to the Burning Legion?”

Nadel lowers her hands and looks at Rax with increasing confusion.  
“Uh, not personally. I mean, no one that I would deem as important, but I know those who have.”

“I have lost a whole array of people to their murderous ways. Friends, relatives, loved ones – there is nothing they will not devour. Both my parents and brother were swallowed too, long ago.”

The drake widens her eyes in shock, as this reply was somewhat unexpected. She knew Rax had suffered, clearly visible from the glint in those glowing whites, but this…  
Her long ears sink out of sorrow.  
“I’m…sorry to hear that. Sounds like we’re both cursed by fate somehow. I wonder what we have done to vex it so…”

Rax soon presses on, but her voice is noticeably flat, devoid of the same tenderness that often fills it.  
“My brother was not taken from me in the traditional way – he left. He…joined the Legion.”

Comprehension dawns in Nadel now, stronger than before.  
“He…he’s a man’ari?”

“Yes, willingly so. And he slew our parents, to strengthen his bond to the fel and demonic power.  
For a long time, I was trapped in a swamp of doubt, pondering whether I could have ever done more to halt his downfall, to avert the loss of a brother I once loved.” She snorts somewhat bitterly. “I suppose many would claim that doubt is my second name, due to tragedy constantly harrying me.”  
She breaks her introspection and looks straight at Nadel.  
“If I knew there was some way to redeem my brother, I would do almost anything. I know what it feels like to make sacrifices for your family, to…tempt fate. If I can improve your chances, Nadelgosa, to save you from my suffering, I will help you.”

Nadel is struck by these words, feeling how they rattle her heart. She’s surprised, not just by the contents, but the honesty flowing from them. They make her swallow, as to not get overwhelmed by emotion.  
“I don’t-…thank you. Truly. If you ever need help with your brother, I…”

Before she can finish her thoughts, they both overhear a noise in the distance. It’s miniscule at first, like tiny electrical cracks, but it quickly grows fiercer and louder.  
As they move towards the barrier to investigate, a wellspring of magic erupts just outside and a whole team of people land right in the corridor.  
“Thariss! Rivaryn!”, Rax exclaims. “And…Kassari?”

“Stella, you came!”, Nadel blurts.

The whole quartet, along with Khroga, Razz and a bunch of violet-clad individuals rises to their feet. Rivaryn flashes a heartfelt smile and rests her rifle over her shoulder.  
“Let’s get you two out of there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yeah so, I skipped the infiltration part. I don't think that would be especially interesting or important. The next section is more fascinating - Kaltor's clash with Raxeen and Nadelgosa._


	25. Blessed perception

“Ah, finally, the correct location. Kirin Tor, it is high time you prove your worth”, the voice of the team leader, Kassari, echoes forth in the center of the blue dragon prison, on the corridors that are usually reserved for the guards and the guards alone. They never quite expected these types of intruders, though.

“We have a number of tasks to complete and you have to move fast. Mister Moran, secure the hallway to the south with a few of your battlemages. Miss Rhydela, I’m going to need you to locate the control switches for these cages. And miss Delacroix, please, track down the operational mechanisms that can deactivate Coldarra’s defensive barriers.”  
Her attention soon shifts to the individuals in their group who are not directly associated with the Kirin Tor.  
“Stellagosa, assist Rhydela with her assignment and Khroga dear, I would appreciate if you could protect Delacroix. As for you, Rivaryn-“ She starts, but then grows disoriented, as she doesn’t notice her sister at her side anymore. Glancing around, she spots the hunter already by the prison cell, having commenced her own activity. “…you already have a task, I see. Proceed, I suppose.”

As the sin’dorei hunter approaches the cage, she holsters her gun and extracts a thick disc-like object from her bag.  
“Be careful with the barrier”, Raxeen cautions from the other side. “It is quite volatile.”

“Yeah, I go it”, Riv half-mumbles, already too busy trying to configure the tool she’s going to use. She kneels down and attaches it onto the side of the wall next to the barrier, only barely nudging the pulsating purple-pink magic.  
“Let’s see. Discharge parameters activated, pulse control set to five, output converter transferred…”, she mutters as she pushes a few buttons and pulls a switch or two on the chassis.  
“I’d recommend for everyone to give it a wide berth, by the way. This includes the two of you”, she indicates for the prisoners. They accede to her request.

After she pulls the final knob, a red light suddenly begins to blink in the center of it, accompanied by a consistent line of beeps, which quickly increases in pace. She has already turned and sprinted away at that point, getting in behind Thariss’ resilient body a few meters off.  
Eventually, the device erupts, expelling a pulse from the middle, like a shockwave that bursts in all directions and explicitly swats the barrier. Not much of a sound is heard from the gadget, but it’s certainly felt in the ground, as it shakes everything within a few meters radius. The cage’s magic flickers for a few seconds and then promptly deactivates completely.

Nadelgosa immediately dashes out of the confinement and rushes up to her sister, who has yet to leave, despite Kassari’s issued orders. Their arms wrap around each other and they hug as tightly as they can.  
“Norgannon’s beard, am I ever glad to see you”, the older sister professes. “I wasn’t sure if…”

In reaction, Stella nuzzles into Nadel’s shoulder and slips one of her hands into the shorter blue hair of the older drake.  
“Don’t say that! Of course I’d come! I would never abandon you, you know that.” Her insistence and passion falters somewhat, as she realizes another detail.  
“Oh, and um…I told our allies everything. I had to.”

Fortunately, Nadel does not seem disturbed in the least, merely nodding curtly.  
“Don’t worry, I figured you might. It is fine. We will talk this through later on.”

By the opening, Rax soon gets company, as Thariss strides over to her with a specific object in her hand.  
“You good, Rax? Your hands look a lil' empty. Found this bad boy while we were teleporting around. Didn’t seem right that these jackasses would get to keep it.”

Elation soars in Rax’s chest as she feasts her eyes on the sight of Kerashta Rakkan. She smiles and fondly wraps her fingers over the hilt. Relief settles into her and she bows her head to Thariss.  
“Venir tor’ze, my friend. Thank you. I feel whole once more.”

The warrior grins and pats the crystal-adorned shoulder.  
“Happy to help.”

Almost instantly thereafter, Nadel gains some space for herself and shifts into her gleaming and magnificent drake form, one that Rax in particular looks at with interest.  
Nadel flaps her wings and bolts over to Deradgos’ cell instead. A saddened quality enters her eyes.  
“Oh, brother…” She steers her gaze towards the blood elf that is trying to unfasten her contraption. “Miss Silvershroud, can you collapse this barrier too?”

Riv touches the disc, but immediately has to retract her hand, like she was just stung. The item is near scalding hot.  
“Uh, yeah, if you give me a moment. The coolant process needs to initiate, and I have to rewire the trigger mechanism afterwards. Might take a minute or two.”

“That is unnecessary”, Kass insists. “We don’t have this much time to spare and we won’t have to – we will take the whole system down from the central network. Now that we have the assistance of two drakes and a paladin, this should expedite the process.”

Nadel gazes at her brother again, looking reluctant to abandon him, even for just a few minutes.  
“Hey, don’t sweat it”, Thariss tries to calm her. “Me and Riv will stick around here, while you guys handle the rest of the compound. Will let you know if anything changes. Uh, somehow.”

A sigh is emitted from her nostrils, eyes not leaving Derad’s kneeling form for a moment.  
“I’ll be back, Derad, I swear”, she practically whispers. “We will get you out of there.”

And with that, she mentally prepares herself to depart and hopefully solve this debacle before it gets worse…and that is when disaster strikes. Or a spear does, to be specific.  
Literally out of nowhere, Kaltor materializes, like a shadow looming above her. This is what it might seem like to most onlookers, but not for those with magical aptitude or senses. They can observe the residual arcane energies of his maneuver, even if it too late to hamper. He teleported inside.

With his spear at the ready, he swings it down in an arch and slashes at Nadel, carving right into the scales of her left flank. The drake growls in agony and hurtles to the ground.  
“No! Nadel!”, Stella shouts in panic.

Kaltor comes to a halt, slams the bottom of his spear to the ground and snorts sharply, emitting smoke from his nose. Around the same time, the mortal group gets harassed by a squad of dragonspawn pouring out into the corridor, attacking them posthaste.  
“You despicable wretches!”, he spits at his adversaries. “You thought I would not notice your intrusion into _my_ lair?! I will have your heads for this, all of you!” He twirls his spear in his hand and sets it in a collision course with Nadel’s fallen body. “Starting with you, _traitor_. I was instructed to be lenient with our own kind, but jurisdictional powers are bestowed upon me during special circumstances. I will not abide a piece of filth like you to remain alive any longer. In the hallowed name of Lord Malygos and the blue dragonflight, I hereby sentence you-“

He’s just about to let his weapon fly, to descend and impale the drake, when another martial tool darts towards him and intercepts its path – a purple crystal hammer.  
Kaltor turns and beholds the view of Rax’s infuriated face, her teeth gritted.  
“You will _not_ have her.”

Rax groans as she strives to impede his progress, managing to push the spear out of its vector and then lifts her hoof to kick the drakonid straight in his abdomen. Despite the size, her strength, laced with a touch of the Light’s gifts, is enough to briefly stagger him.  
Once he regains his footing, he bares his fangs at her. He roars, bristling at her audacity. He does still retreat and commences a circling route around her position, though, spinning his spear all the while.

“And the pet arrives to defend her master! I should have predicted how pathetically simple-minded you mortals are.”

A few meters behind him, Stella transforms into her drake form, smaller than Nadel’s and takes off into the air, passes over the fighters and lands near the injured drake.  
“Sister, hang on. I’ll take care of you.”

In the meantime, Rax holds her hammer out, physically blocking any roads for him that leads straight to the siblings, glaring so fiercely that she practically appears to glow; retribution incarnate.  
“And you are a contemptible monster”, she declares, “no better than those who would like no more than to destroy this world. We should all unite to fight the Legion and yet you would rather imprison and torture innocents.”

“Your understanding of our laws is insulting”, he retorts.

She heaves her hammer and sets the hilt within the clutches of both hands.  
“I need only one mandate – the Light’s grace. Pheta thones gamera.”

“Hah! You think your little sparkles will do anything to us? So be it.”

He doesn’t wait for another reply, but instead lunges straight into her, with his spear thrusted forward. She can’t outright block its route, for this would likely inflict too much damage on her weapon, but she can angle the hammer towards the hilt, to deflect the spear’s edge.  
Following this move up is another kick from Rax, but without the same strength or agility as the first, he can effortlessly evade it. He spins around and reaches out with his claws to swipe her, but she imitates him by dodging as well.

With this proximity, Rax attempts to charge into him and lets her hammer pursue her, to swing wildly and deliver as much cataclysmic damage as is feasible, but it’s too slow. Kaltor skips away, twists his spear into a curve and lashes at her yet again, which she manages to parry. He makes a bid for further close combat engagement by shoving his shoulder into her frame, but the draenei had in some way foreseen it. She clashes with him head on, utilizing a similar move and pure physical power is not something he can employ to make her budge.

In the subsequent moments, a few blows are traded back and forth – claws from his end, kicks from hers, shallow cuts by his spear and bare misses from her hammer.  
The farther this conflict advances, the more Kaltor seems to underestimate his adversary’s weapon. Sure, he continuously circumvents her assaults, but he stays way too close, without considering what kind of impact she can have with one very precise strike.

This is a fallacy she finally picks up the hint from, when she doles out a proper whack. It occurs during one of his many jabs, as he aspires to pierce her body in one of the weaker positions of the armor. She has so far predominantly enlisted Kerastha Rakkan’s hilt in order to block, but this time, she steers clear of her opponent’s tool, charges a hefty spin of her whole body and lets the hammer swing. She gets a lucky strike, bashing him right in his gut.

This is the critical second, the event which provides him with clarity. He practically feels every inch of the impact, like his ribs might’ve been crushed beneath it had she not hit a little below them, but pain does undeniably ripple through his entire essence. Out of fear, he teleports away.  
Rax keeps a close eye on the whole procedure, but instead of harrying him, she straightens her pose and stalls. She doesn’t know if his reaction was a feint or not. Best to wait and watch, be smart about it.

“You see it now?”, she asks. “You underestimate the potency of the Light – it can purge any foe, any villain. You simply need a righteous cause and the correct application of zeal.”

Kaltor lingers on his knees for a short while, trying to catch his breath and compel the pain to subside. His temporary weakened state is no ruse, though he doesn’t relinquish this fact. He permits her words to cement in his mind, to increase his frustration and outrage. Eventually, he summons a growl, almost a half-roar, as he gets back on his feet.  
“I admit, I misunderstood your talents, your capacity for destruction. I held back, thinking I wouldn’t have to expend too much energy to slay a paltry menace like you. But I see now that it was folly. Allow me to adjust accordingly.”

The tip of his equipment flares up with pink light and right away, he blinks out of existence, teleporting once more, without giving her any prior warning. But for a competent paladin like Rax, it isn’t arduous to detect the flow of the arcane from this range, so she simply raises her awareness to track him.  
She senses his coming from the left flank and shifts to handle his incursion, but this isn’t an endeavor she can obstruct so easily. Before she has even made a full turn, he’s gone again. He vanishes and instantly reappears on her right. She’s baffled by this speed and is too late to defend herself. She can only recoil, in hopes of mitigating the damage. This reflex is partially successful, as his cut isn’t critically deep, but his spear is now infused with amplified arcane enchantments, so it would not be impossible for him to penetrate her hide in a few additional places, with an accurately controlled stab.

He affords her no respite, no chance to recuperate, as he fades once more. In this third shot, he rematerializes behind her. She turns on her heel to curb his attempt, but she regrettably suffers another cut, this time over her leg. Minimal, perhaps, but it stings.  
Thankfully, there’s a limit. Apparently, three rounds are all he can dispense in one go, and in the aftermath, he retreats. Regardless of this fact, her faltering posture inspires him to laugh derisively.

“What’s wrong, mortal? Lost your wind?”

Rax quivers somewhat with her next inhale, but she shifts to glower at him anyhow.  
“…meager tricks you have.”

“Meager, huh? Looks to me as if they’re fairly effective, judging by your failing stamina. But if you weren’t impressed, shall I offer another demonstration?”

The recharge timer is not instantaneous, for Kaltor still lingers at a distance, waiting for his reserves to replenish. This ability must drain a lot out of him. Rax seizes that chance and takes a few swift shots him, smacking Kerastha Rakkan in his general direction, and while she definitely hits her target, he blocks every single one. At one particular instant, as it looks like she’s just about to bash him, he disappears.  
After some brief shock, she tries to erect preemptive defenses, but her rate is inadequate. He overshoots her once, but the two ensuing slashes strike true and here, he actually manages to drill into her, beneath the armor.

Rax does not tolerate surrender, nor to let it slow her down, at least not too heavily. Sadly, her counterattacks are futile, for his tactic persists. He constructs a durable barrier to thwart her, until he obtains the opportunity to shroud his existence in a flurry of magic, where he fades into nothingness.  
Gradually, the draenei is growing desperate, knowing she can’t last for an eternity. If she could only reach him with one solid hit…  
There are certain special techniques that she can brandish in emergencies, like when she first ran into Thariss and Rivaryn on Outland. Trouble is, she needs an angle for this to pan out, and she is not in a pertinent position to achieve it.

To grant herself a breather, time to develop a strategy and to dampen the injuries she’s sustaining, right after his first teleportation, she lifts one hand and says a quick internal prayer. A golden barrier forms around her – the same skill she once used to protect herself from a gronn’s fury with. It is remarkably stable, virtually impenetrable. Very useful in her currently dilemma, as his assaults are hindered. Unfortunately, she knows just how temporary this measure is. She won’t have another chance to use it before the end of this fight. Or before she perishes.

Kaltor withdraws when his mauling proves fruitless, drifts out of her radius and bides his time. He scans her, awaiting a crack in her defenses.  
“It seems I’m not the only one with ‘tricks’ and surprisingly robust at that. But I’m willing to gamble that this is a fleeting countermeasure. I still have much stamina left to invest in my own methods, little mortal. Do you truly expect to match me? I am the Warden of this facility and I will not be defeated so easily!”

Rax ignores him, concentrating on mapping out a conclusive maneuver that stands any chance whatsoever to topple him.  
Just as the shield loses its power and decays, Kaltor is primed, instantly vanishing again. At this decisive phase, with everything on the line, time almost seems to stand still for Rax. And that’s when it comes to her, slithers into her mind and provides her with an epiphany. There is one golden opportunity, a second when he’s susceptible to a rupture, but there’s a down side to this gambit – it’s risky and will doubtlessly hurt her terribly. But at this stage, what else can she do? Take a really substantial blow or succumb to his might?

Inhaling deeply, she decides to execute her ploy. It commences by essentially faking her state. She has been hurt at this point, but not to the extent where she’s close to dying. As he’s unaware of this fact, she makes her initial moves very slow and sluggish, like she’s not prepared for the incisions and is getting too fatigued to oppose them. The first two thrusts are still small and while they sting, she can endure them. However, her gambit pays off, as her depleted display fills him with courage for the third and final blow.

With boosted imbued strength, he dashes into her, spear held in a low stabbing motion. The tip shimmers with exhilarated arcane potency, which he drives right into the side of her gut.  
It prevails, boring deeply into her flesh. She had breathed in earlier to brace herself, but it just wasn’t enough to foresee the agony that would ensue. A wave of pain suffuses her, and she nearly wants to cave in, right there and then. It has been years, too long, since she has suffered this type of impact.

Her expression and torment send gleeful chills into the drakonid, who laughs.  
“So much for your Light! It is no match for a true warrior, nor is any of your pitiful kind. How does it feel, mortal, to face the death that keeps hounding you?”

Despite the searing pain, the faltering consciousness and the pressure of the weapon still literally pushing into her torso, she refuses to yield. She holds onto her stance and completes her plan.  
Kaltor soon sees how she clenches the fingers of one hand around his wrist, as he has stepped so very close to her location and to his surprise, glares at him with ferocious eyes.  
“I do not know. Perhaps you will find out for us both.”

Pure undiluted brilliance and power surges through her, as two golden wings emerge from her back, a manifestation of the Light’s wrath. She lets out a howling battle shout and with enhanced physical capability, she raises Kerastha Rakkan with just one hand. She sends it swinging, directing the brunt of her attack beneath his jaw, like an upper cut made of hardened crystal.

The collision is so precise and energetic, fueled by the Light’s rage, that Rax can hear something cracking in his skull.  
Kaltor doesn’t have time for anything. He doesn’t scream or groan or protest, as he hurtles backwards and bounces away across the hall, immediately knocked out. Watching his immobile form, Rax doesn’t know for sure whether he’s dead or not, but though she can finish the job, she chooses not to. She doesn’t have to become like them.

With adrenaline still pulsating through her, she has a small cache of energy left, just barely enough to wrench the spear out from her body. She emits a muffled anguished cry and unceremoniously drops it to the floor. Afterwards, she senses how her legs have trouble preserving balance and she has to support herself against the wall next to one of the cells. She really shouldn’t enact a crazy plan like this ever again.  
Not much of her endurance remains, but she has enough for a transitory pain-numbing prayer.

A couple of minutes later, the Kirin Tor team, aided by the mercenaries, open all cells and hurriedly portals away with as many as they can possibly amass, before reinforcements arrive. It is Thariss who carries Derad out, while Riv supports Rax.  
Mission accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Retri pally vs Arcane mage - 1-0._   
>  _Technically, mages can't blink that often in game, nor with such precision, but this isn't a game and well, the Warden was more of a battlemage type, so I gave him a few extra skills. Plus, he's a drakonid. I mean, not powerful enough to defeat the former leader of the Shiihou, but still_   
>  _And yeah, I skipped the rest of the mission, because it wasn't really critical for the purposes of this story._


	26. Pillar to possibility

Expansive, rich, soothing, inviting. Ashindra will begrudgingly admit one aspect about Northrend – the night sky is a beautiful sight to behold, unlike the rest of this sordid landscape. Not only is it akin to an ocean of glittering stars on display, filling her with an unexpected peace, but the fluctuating and rippling auroras that regularly frequent it are magnificent. It is an element she does not remember seeing particularly often down in the verdant Quel’Thalas. Well, previously verdant.

Despite this splendid exhibition of the heavens, Ash only occasionally offers her eyes to its dance. Another item currently craves her attention and she have difficulties with ignoring its tempting call. She cannot stop regularly glancing down at its glimmering metal, sitting comfortably around her arm.  
She still can't fully believable that she’s been able to attain this status, so soon after joining the Argent Crusade. What’s it been? Weeks? A few months maybe? That sounds like a very rapid process for someone like Ash. A proof of her talents or a favoritism from a certain priestess?

Speaking of her, it is this very individual who now interrupts Ash’s reverie. The paladin is standing at the periphery of the camp that has been erected, including both hers and a few other squads. They’re on a journey towards the northwest of the Howling Fjord, following the coastline, and for once, their surroundings are pleasantly calm and undisturbed.  
“How’s that badge working out for you?”

Ash blinks and tears her gaze away from the small object depicting an open golden hand – the symbol of the Crusade – with a star at the bottom which is attached to her arm, and swirls towards the origin of the voice. She sets her sight on a vibrant and striking source – Melia. As usual, the priestess is dressed in her enchanted robes and a collection of fur attachments, to keep herself warm.  
Ash clears her throat and amends her position, trying to hide the fact that she’s been effusively tugging at it for the last half an hour.

“Oh…good. Very good, actually. Thank you for the promotion. Uh, ma’am.”

Melia beams in response.  
“You’re very welcome, _Sergeant.”_ She giggles to herself, quickly pocketing the formalities. The two work best when they’re in casual conversation. Even better now that Ash is officially her second-in-command.  
“Honestly, you’ve more than earned it at this point, especially back in the tomb. Without you…” Her expression falters. “…there’s no telling how poorly things might’ve gone.”

Ash isn’t quite sure how to address this scenario to begin with. It has been a few days now and she knows that Melia has felt guilty ever since their excursion into the vrykul ruins, even if Ash had insisted that it was useless to dwell on the past.  
“How’s Braktog doing?”

Attempting to press her qualms into the depths of her subconscious, Melia inhales slowly.  
“Still ailing, but healing. Some internal wounds linger, but they shouldn’t hinder his abilities to fight any longer.” The Lieutenant fidgets a bit with one of her sleeves.  
“He was somewhat reprimanded when we got back to camp, along with a few others.”

This fact hadn’t escaped Ash, despite not being present at the debriefing. It wasn’t a chastising performed by Fordring himself, for the Highlord had already been forced to depart.  
“By the Commander?”

“Commander Solegear, yes. Though the blow was of course softened once I relayed the fact that it wasn’t technically his fault, nor anyone else’s, since we were controlled. They chose to refrain from administrating any punishments in light of this.  
And frankly, he has been much more self-critical so far, beating himself up ever since it happened. Told me he’d pledge to improve and make up for it.” Melia pensively corrects a few stray strands of hair and scratches her cheek.  
“I wonder if I shouldn’t be doing the same, to be honest. I was also taken by that nerubian sorcery and I feel…awful. It was humiliating and dangerous.”

While she may not have formulated a protest before, Ash has to intervene now.  
“Don’t. There’s no reason you should feel bad. It’s counterproductive and harmful for your development. Learn from this experience, Melia, don’t let yourself crumble.”

Melia’s eyes drifts elsewhere, her brow furrowing skeptically.  
“But…”

“And I don’t believe it’s fair to ignore the aptitude in leadership that you demonstrated. Had you not taken charge after Captain Deepreach’s fall, would we still be alive? Personally, I doubt it. Our whole team would’ve perished without you.”

Biting her lip during the description, the signs on Melia’s expression divulges her differing opinion on this matter. She sighs and folds her arms.  
“I dunno. I just think I should’ve done better, especially when considering all the days and nights I’ve spent training with the Church. Not sure what my mother would’ve said, had she found out about this.”

“Well, I can’t claim to know your mother’s heart of hearts, as I’ve never met her, but from all you have told me, I’m convinced she wouldn’t be angry, nor disappointed. This disaster could’ve happened to anyone. And in the end, we got out of it, with most of our troops intact to boot. Be proud of this accomplishment, Melia. Don’t second-guess yourself.”

“Which wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

“Well, that’s what comrades are for, no? We’re a team, not a collection of individual agendas.”

Finally, Melia permits Ash’s words to imbue her with motivation and spirit, knowing she can’t get bogged down in the horrors of the past. She has already learned to cope with such daunting elements.  
Instead, she shifts back to her Sergeant and meets with the bright green gems.  
“Alright, you win. Mind telling me where and how you got so skilled at combating curses like that? You obviously weren’t affected, in spite of looking directly at the damn thing.”

Ash raises her hand to pull and hoist one of her shoulder pads, to rectify its position.  
“Nothing overly complex, really. Just what I was taught during my paladin training. Being drilled by Lady Liadrin could be quite…rigorous, but also illuminating.  
She informed me that, to be a paladin is not simply to embrace the guise of a hunter of evil, but to hone one’s mind, detect its roots and to fight its taint, wherever it rears its ugly head. Physical corruption is possible to detect for anyone with the appropriate tools.” She holds up her hand and gestures with her fingers in a rotating motion.  
“To me, it has a certain…tang, aroma perhaps. Makes the hairs at the back of my head rise and bristle. It can be sensed in all manner of twisted beings. The undead’s necromancy is undoubtedly the most prominent, I would say, though I may be basing that on purely personal experiences. Then there’s of course the duplicitous void of the old gods, which is not too far away in terms of energy, but with separate and distinct components. And…”

She’s just about to transition into the next phase of her explanation, when her own memories curtail her headway. Old thoughts that refuse to leave her be, distinguish themselves in the haze of her mind. She receives a sudden, almost visceral flashback, like she’s reliving the same moments, the same emotions, but in more inscrutable ways. Disgust, thriving hate, a rush to annihilate…  
_“I’m not a monster! I’m still your sister, Ash! I always will be, and you have to listen to me when I say that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you!”_

Ash becomes outwardly distant and quiet, making Melia observe her curiously, since the elf has literally halted in the middle of a sentence. Melia has witnessed a similar faraway look before, but not this acute. Hoping to bring the paladin back to reality, she decides to continue the conversation.  
“Well, either way, it was impressive. Kinda wish I could do stuff like that myself.”

Her endeavor bares fruit and Ash twitches, shaking herself out of her daydream. Or nightmare. She sweeps her vicinity with startled eyes, but then emits a mild cough, pretending like it was nothing.  
“Uh, well, if you so desire, I could tutor you. I have a few neat tricks in my repertoire that anyone with an affinity for the Light should be able to learn.”

The proposal is evidently welcome, judging by Melia’s pleasant smile.  
“I would enjoy that very much. But, this might require for us to hang out more than we do now. You’re okay with that?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

“Huh. Intriguing. Didn’t know if you’d be okay with the idea of us increasing the number of hours we spend with each other.”

Ash blinks and in her bewilderment, she looks for an excuse.  
“Um, well…I just want you to be better prepared.”

Melia’s derived entertainment from this situation grows and she tilts her head, casually strolling into Ash’s personal space.  
“Hmm, I wonder. In fact, come to think of it, you were pretty hell-bent on protecting me down in the darkness, if I recall correctly.”

It’s relatively hard to deny this suggestion, though Ash is reluctant to let the truth slip out of her. She swallows and averts her eyes.  
“Not more than usual.”

“The soldiers told me that you broke formation and cut down undead with an impressive display of passion and mastery.”

“I’m…a paladin. It’s what I do.”

“Interesting excuse.”

It’s actually quite silly that Ash would ever get nervous by these types of circumstances, as she used to be deemed as fairly charming in her younger years. And yet now, she’s nearly speechless. Deflection is the sole option she has.  
“Ahem. So, uh…do you know anything regarding this new region we’re travelling towards?”

Melia snickers at this strategy and eases up on her ‘onslaught’.  
“Only a little. Dragonblight is what they call it. It’s where dragons go to die.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…depressing.”

“Heh, in a way. But also a little poetic. They say that the oldest of dragons are drawn there, an intrinsic desire to lay their bodies upon the frozen wasteland and be entombed in the frost’s hardened embrace.”

Ash dips her head sideways in an acknowledging fashion.  
“When you put it that way.”

“The Commander had a specific location for us in mind, a tower known as the Wyrmrest Temple, near the center. We’re supposed to rendezvous with some dragon forces at its base. Apparently, the Scourge is launching an increased offensive on it and they need reinforcements.”

The paladin merely nods at first, trying to imagine what it would be like, more than the details of the mission itself. She taps at her chin in contemplation.  
“Hmm. Thinking back, I don’t know if I’ve ever encountered a friendly dragon in my life. I recall fighting them in the Second War, but that was different.”

“Well, they’re our allies, so you better be on your best behavior.”

Ash looks at Melia, both seeing and hearing the amusement in her voice. Ash elects to play along, showcasing an overly crisp salute.  
“Yes, of course! I shall be most respectful, Lieutenant.”

It pans out and Melia laughs softly.  
“You’re cute sometimes.  
Alright, I guess that’s enough for today. I’m gonna go grab a few winks of sleep.”

Ash inclines her head and rests her hand down on the hilt of her blade.  
“Do so. I’ll take the first watch, ensure everyone stays sharp.”

“Ever the diligent soldier, huh?”

“Vigilance and discipline are important ideals.”

Ash seems fairly content about the ending of this talk, that they could both relieve a few tensions and concerns. This is why she turns away, but she just so happens to underestimate Melia, who doesn’t leave immediately.  
“And Sergeant?”

Ash glances over her shoulder.  
“Hm?”

Once she faces the priestess, Melia is already right next to her, too close for Ash to recoil or escape. She lifts one hand with remarkable speed to the elf’s opposite cheek, just prior to leaning in and tenderly planting her lips on the one within reach. A wave of warmth and almost electrifying thrill flows through Ash’s body. The texture of the human’s lips is satisfyingly soft.  
After detaching from the cheek, Melia pushes her mouth to the adjacent ear, a hot breath hitting it.

“Thank you”, she whispers.

Ash is left blushing profusely as Melia wanders back to her tent, the paladin’s hand touching and lingering on that spot for at least a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Will I ever be done torturing Ash about Vesta? I'm not sure_


	27. Discarded bonds

Warmth, soft seats and a tasty meal. For some of those within these sturdy walls, it feels like an eternity since they last experienced such concepts, essentially since leaving the shores of Kalimdor. The tundra all around them isn’t exactly known for its hospitality and the chills in Coldarra were somehow more penetrative, virtually digging into the bloodstreams. To sit here now in a comfortable chair, not all too far from an actual fireplace – or a conjured one at least – is surprisingly soothing, almost intoxicating.

After the success in the Nexus’ prison, the group managed to just barely escape with the prisoners they liberated, letting the red dragons fly them back to Amber Ledge. Due to all the arcane protections around this area, and the increasing presence of other dragonflights, it appears that the blues are not ready to head outside of their lair to fight. Not yet, at least. That doesn’t just give the inhabitants some leeway and breathing room, but also chances to plot for future strikes.

Such ideas are something for another group, however, not Rivaryn, Thariss and Raxeen. After they’re done here, they will likely head elsewhere, explore more of the tundra and find other people to pay them to do something useful. They’ve had enough of fighting dragons for now. Riv is confident that her sister’s ingenuity and passion will be a boon to the Kirin Tor’s end goal, so she has no qualms about leaving its fate to Kassari.  
Once they got back, Rax had to be patched up properly, as her temporary healing spell wore off and the pain of what she had endured nearly ruined her insides. That is of course also part of why they chose to extend their stay.

Currently, they’re enjoying dinner together, while discussing future plans for other sections of this continent. Rescuing prisoners, Deradgos in particular, may have been their initial intention for travelling, but now that they’re up here, might as well assess the progress of the war against the Scourge. However, these actions are interrupted by a knock on the door.  
Rax turns to look at it, but isn’t about to get up. She’s comfortable where she’s sat.  
“Enter.”

The doorknob shifts around and the item its attached to slowly opens up. Before this act is finished, they hear how someone clears her throat on the other side.  
The person unveiled to them is an azure blue-haired elf, someone who has become very familiar to them at this point. Compared to the leather armor she wears most of the time, she has opted for a shirt and some pants in pale blue, green and white colors.

“Good afternoon. I hope I am not disturbing you in any way.”

Thariss lifts her fork to point at the drake, but her mouth is full of food, so her words are delayed. Before she has a chance to vocalize them, Riv rolls her eyes and plants a hand over her girlfriend’s lips.  
“Don’t speak while you’re eating. It’s impolite.”

With mischief in her eyes, Thariss tickles Riv’s side, compelling the hunter to let go and free her pathways.  
“Manners are for suckers, babe."

“I’ll be sure to let your mother know when we get back.  
Anyway, no, you’re not bothering us, Nadelgosa. We were just discussing Northrend and where we should go after this. How’s your injury?”

The drake offers a tentative look, perhaps not having foreseen this inquiry, that they would even care about her health. A hand instinctively reaches for her side, where bandages are attached underneath. It was unknown whether such a measure would be of any assistance, but they chose to employ it regardless.  
“It’s…mending. Stella advised me to secure an increased amount of rest, but I find myself too uneasy to sleep at this time.”

“Well, still sounds like a wise suggestion, but it’s up to you. Is there something we can help you with?”

Nadelgosa quickly shakes her head.  
“I believe you have helped me more than enough already. I simply came to express my gratitude for all your efforts and to tell you that I’m extremely pleased that everything went so well. My choice to approach you was somewhat…abrupt and shrouded in dishonesty, but you surpassed all of my expectations. It means a lot to me.”

Riv offers a smile in return.  
“Hey, no problem. It was nothing special. Well, I mean, it was not an ideal situation and we do wish you had informed us beforehand of all the details, but we got out of it.”

Now that Thariss has finally swallowed all of her grub, she makes an addition.  
“Plus, we got paid, a real exciting tussle in the depths of a blue dragon dungeon that we’re definitely gonna tell stories about, a free meal and beds to sleep in. It was worth it, mostly.”

“We’re also glad that no one got hurt to any major degree. Getting the prisoners out unharmed felt good. Well…you know, outside of their prior injuries.”

Nadel inclines her head.  
“You will get no argument from me. I am profoundly relieved and immensely grateful, which I’m sure is a sentiment shared by everyone involved. We will not forget this. All three of you have clearly shown to be friends of dragons, the blues who don’t follow Malygos most of all.”

“Let us hope that stays intact”, Rax assents. “Having blue dragons as allies in the future could be tremendously valuable. I am sure we can accomplish much good together.”

“The feeling is mutual.”  
After she’s done with her initial speech, Nadel clears her throat again and her gaze falls to the ground. She slips her arms behind her back and her expression makes her seem a bit embarrassed.  
“Now, I was wondering if I could possibly borrow Raxeen for a few minutes. I wish to speak with her. Erm...in private.”

Rax blinks confusedly to begin with and gives her companions a questioning look. She should’ve expected the smug expressions she gets and therefore sighs as she slowly stands up.  
“Yes, I suppose I would not mind.”

As the two leave the room, the elves wait until they’re just by the door.  
“Have fun”, Riv calls to them.

“You kids go easy on each other, alright? No wild thrusting”, Thariss jokes. “Remember you’re both still injured.”

Rax glances over her shoulder and frowns somewhat, before she shuts the door rather firmly after her. During the subsequent trek, she does have to be a tad cautious, disclosing a light limp.  
On the way to the other room, Nadel stops to let the draenei catch up.  
“Oh, that’s right, you sustained a substantial blow from the prison warden. Has your condition improved?”

Trying to forget the night elf’s insinuation, the paladin offers her a small smile.  
“Yes, I am doing better, but still sore. The Light’s power and the local medic have taken care of the worst effects, but I might need a few days until I am fully restored.”

Nadel’s gaze is stuck on the area where Rax was pierced, staring at it with absent eyes, until she’s ready to respond.  
“Mm. I…am glad that it was not fatal.”

“Hah, I certainly agree. That warden was…effective, but I have survived worse.”

They enter a bedroom together, resembling the quarters they just departed, albeit slightly smaller, as only Nadel and Stella rest in here. It’s pretty neat and tidy, but presumably due to not being much in use. The drake has probably not done beyond sleeping.  
Once they stop in the middle of the abode, Nadel tries to mentally prepare herself in some way, for whatever it is she had in mind, but she is quite hesitant. It appears Rax will have to go first.

“How is your brother faring?”

Seeming to alleviate some of her concerns, Nadel looks up to face the other woman directly and nods mindfully.  
“Alive, but ailing. His rate of recovery remains indeterminable and we’re debating where to go from here. They were not kind to him in that cell and it’s difficult to estimate how much they broke. He took a lot of damage on multiple stages and I…”  
She furrows her brow and clenches her hands.  
“I still can’t believe they’d do this to one of their own. I can comprehend why they’d be convinced that capture was necessary, due to Malygos’ decision, but torture? That is…deeply disturbing”, she says, more fiercely than she intended.

Folding her arms carefully, as to not strain herself, Rax displays a slight scowl of her own.  
“We are in alignment on that front. This is not a justified act to perpetrate, even in war, without good cause. What they could have possibly hoped to achieve by doing so to someone who has no worthwhile information to provide, I do not know. I hold no regrets for assisting you and your people, and I am satisfied to have taught this Kaltor a lesson.”

“I’m relieved to hear it, though he may nurse a grudge, if he yet lives.”

Rax snorts amusedly.  
“Oh, I hope this is the case. If he does not forget me, then he will also recall what happened the last time he made the foolish mistake of standing in my way. I would be delighted to repeat the lecture, if it did not stick after our first bout.”

Nadel can’t help but smile somewhat, despite her seemingly nervous appearance at this time.  
“That would be…inspiring to watch.  
As for Deradgos, he hasn’t said much thus far, but once he awakens, I know he will want to thank you and your friends personally as well. We owe you a lot.”

“Well, you did technically pay us already, so I do not believe any favor is required.”

While this seems to be her angle, Nadel does not quite concede. She opens her mouth to say something, but then wavers again. She starts to fidget with the bottom of her shirt.  
“I…did not call you in here to discuss my brother specifically, even if the subject at hand is related.”

“I figured as much. You could have done that in front of the others.”

“Of course. The true reason why you’re here is because…well, we never fully concluded our conversation down there, did we? I meant to articulate a more coherent explanation for my outburst in Outland, but it became mired in self-pity, I suspect. I…have never had such a close connection, permitted a mortal to peer into the depths of my soul.”

Rax’s face takes on a separate aura, steeped in both solemnity and inquisitiveness.  
“I did wonder about that. It remains perplexing to me. All I did was utilize a healing spell.”

“To me, it was much larger. I was dying at the time, which weakened my innate defenses. I felt your magic, your essence, entering me and how our energies collided. It was…a profound experience.  
Maybe it is not quite the same in your eyes, but for someone like me, who is so surrounded by magic at all times, it is a different sensation.”

“But the Light is not-“

Nadel raises her hands to interrupt Rax.  
“Yes, I know, the Light isn’t the arcane, but there is still a certain relationship between them, and that is what brought our…bond to fruition. I was worried you might use it against me, which I obviously shouldn’t have. I see now that you’re not that kind of person.”  
She takes a deep breath and defies her own doubts, so that she can peer into Rax’s eyes again.  
“Do you think there’s any chance at all, that you can find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Oh, that’s correct – she never did absolve the drake of guilt, did she?  
The draenei searches Nadel’s gaze, seeing the flickering conviction and the hope that she clutches so dearly, not wanting to fully indulge in it, if Rax chooses to turn her down. Despite their clash on Outland, Rax feels there is no need to prolong this conflict. She smiles towards the other woman.  
“Absolutely. You are a compassionate and likeable person, lady Nadelgosa and even if I do not approve of your actions the last time we met, I know you never meant to cause harm. I forgive you.”

Finally letting that breath go, Nadel’s shoulders slump, as if an immense weight was just relinquished and this notion is soon replaced by joy instead.  
“Thank you, Raxeen. I truly mean it. I am honored beyond words for this opportunity, and I promise I shall not squander it.  
However, I hope to go even further. If you would allow me to, I wish to grant you a special gift.”

That makes her a little bit more suspicious, which is why she raises her brow.  
“…another gift?”

“No no, not like that! This is no blessing, but a proper reward. If you choose to accept it, you have my solemn vow that you will approve of the advantages it provides.”

It’s not like she wants to dismiss the drake out of hand now that things are going so well, but she also can’t deny the tinge of reluctance that swirls in her gut, warning her not to trust like this again.  
“Well, I…”

Trying to appear as firm and honest as conceivably possible, Nadel puts a hand to her chest and bows her head.  
“Please, I swear upon mine, my brother’s and my sister’s lives that this time I am telling you nothing but the truth. I only want to do this right, to remedy the damage I inflicted, for all you’ve done to help us.”

Nadel makes sure to maintain eye contact, to show her sincerity and even if Rax isn’t exactly telepathic, she can practically sense the candor.  
“Ah, alright, I will trust you”, she says while giving in.

The drake’s lips shift upwards and she gestures with a hand.  
“Follow me.”  
She takes Rax with her towards the corner, and a slim box that she picks up from the floor, which was hidden at the side of a desk. From it, she extracts what looks like a necklace, with a silver chain and a small gemstone hanging at its center. It’s very reminiscent of a gleaming sapphire, but with a tiny red pearl inside.  
“This is an Inter-Physical Essence Transceiver. It has another name in draconic, but it has been crafted and used by our people for a long time.”

As Rax takes it, she gently strokes her thumb over the gemstone, studying it carefully. It is pretty, she’ll say that much.  
“Transceiver? What does it do?”

“First of all, it has some of my essence inside of it – no, not blood, but hair – which had to be infused into the center orb. Secondly, if you wear it, that would make it possible for you to detect my organic signature. And…well, I would be able to sense yours too, since it mentally binds us together.”

“Binds…us?”

Nadel nods slowly.  
“Yes, although only temporarily, as it is removed as soon as you take the necklace off. Our spirits will be interacting in a sense and while you wear it, you can simply think of me, which I will be able to take as a warning.  
If you are ever in need, all you have to do is call using this item, and I will come to your aid, no matter what it might entail.”

Even if she is far too young to have ever been to Argus, Rax has heard of and witnessed similar devices among her people. Not precisely this type, but certainly concepts that resemble them, as she knows the power of magical crystals. Still, this is quite astounding.  
She views it curiously for a few moments, staying silent until she can locate something of worth to say.  
“Hmm. That is very…intriguing. And I only need to think of you? Nothing more?”

“Correct. It would be like…sending out a flare, I guess, an indication that my presence is required.”

When Nadel speaks of it, she sounds moderately excited, almost proud. She obviously thought this was a very clever and useful gift, and Rax will agree that it likely will be. But, there are also other aspects at play here.  
“Well, in that case, we might have a problem. There is potentially a risk that you will be called more often than you wish.”

Nadel transitions from satisfaction to confusion.  
“…what? Why would that be-“  
It only takes a moment before she understands, as Rax’s eyes shimmer with intent, and Nadel clears her throat awkwardly. At the same time, Rax starts to smirk.  
“Oh, I see. That erm…is a valid point. Perhaps we shall have to work out some kind of code, for when you really are in trouble.”

“So, if I just want some company, I cannot wave you over?”

Nadel is starting to look embarrassed again, but now for different reasons. She nudges one of her feet into the floor in a somewhat shy manner as well.  
“Well, I…I suppose that is alright. I would not mind too much, as long as it’s not constant and you are not on the other side of the world. That would…take a long time for me to reach, just to abate your loneliness.”

Rax chuckles gently.  
“I agree, and I shall use it sparingly. Or endeavor to try, at least.”  
She lifts it up with one hand, using the other to gather up her long curly hair.  
“Could you help me put it on?”

It appears that Nadel had not expected this to happen so soon, and she widens her eyes.  
“W-wait, now?”

“Yes, naturally. I wish to test its potency, if you do not mind.”

Nadel hesitates and hastily tries to generate counterarguments, but it’s difficult to track anything of use.  
“But, it’s…” She looks at Rax, who almost seems expectant, possibly even psyched, and it prods a tender facet of Nadel’s heart, who deems it too precious to ignore. She sighs instead.  
“Very well, but you’ll have to sit down. You’re too tall.”

Giving it back to the drake, Rax soon slips down into a chair, so that Nadel can get access to her neck. The drake waits a moment or two before she connects the clasp from behind, as she knows there will be a surge of energy and she has to psychologically strap herself in for the impact.  
This seems to have been a wise choice, because as soon as it does, she detects a tingling sensation, not just in her stomach or chest, but her very core. Not necessarily unpleasant, but stronger than she had anticipated. It is brief, however, and swiftly dissipates. Soon after, it has settled down and they find a more comfortable, almost cozy mood around them.

Rax gradually stands up, keeping a hand at her side where the injury is, and her gaze is rather distant for a few seconds.  
“Hmm, this is indeed interesting. I had not predicted for it to be so…intimate. It is like I can feel you touching a part of me.”

The way she phrases it makes Nadel’s chest flutter for an instant.  
“Yes, it’s…it’s because we’re so close right now. It is not quite as constant from afar, especially if there’s miles apart.”

Rax remains satisfied with that conclusion and faces her companion again.  
“Sensible. I am eager to observe what it will do for us elsewhere. I might try to remove it at night, though, for your sake.”

“Well, I believe I will be able to notice the difference either way.”  
Nadel lowers her eyes and digests the entire appearance before her.  
“It, erm…looks good on you.”

An unexpected compliment, which is why Rax’s lips curl into a smirk instead.  
“I imagine it does.”

Suddenly, Nadel realizes that she may have underestimated the nature and efficacy of this link. She can perceive every inch of that self-assurance, the radiance of Rax’s soul and how thoroughly they have grown interconnected. It eats at her, fills her with a yearning she didn’t know existed prior to this moment. A reflexive resistance is erected, but she soon acknowledges that she won’t let this get between them. She has sealed her own fate.

Closing her eyes, she exhales in a taxing fashion.  
“I’m going to regret this, I know it.”

Before a response can be issued, Nadel advances. Her hands latch onto Rax’s shoulders, her feet utilizes the toes to elevate her position and her eyes draw shut. Without needing to elaborate on her desire, Rax gets the gist of it as a pair of lips lock onto her own, vehemently and cravingly. The action somehow manages to be a perfect coalescence of a demand and a plea, that the draenei will reciprocate and justify pouring her heart out. Luckily, Rax does nothing to combat the display.

Nadel is soon imbued with amplified elation and ease as two hands grab onto her hips and pull her in, consolidating the passionate embrace. Instinctively, Nadel’s fingers ascend, run through the black hair and caress the curly strands, following an inexplicable whim that begs her to touch everything she has disregarded so far, to stop ignoring her innermost sentiments. This is where she knows that she belongs.

Neither of them can discern how long this entanglement lingers, how intricately they remain hitched, and perhaps it doesn’t really matter. Once they finally unfasten themselves however and the residual hunger is unveiled, Nadel regrets her impulsiveness just a tiny bit. She can both feel and directly behold Rax’s reaction. It incites a minimal scowl from Nadel.  
“Don’t be so smug.”

Rax snickers involuntarily.  
“I did not say anything.”

“I can see it on your face, you fool!”

“You can spy yourself on my lips? That was a vigorous kiss indeed.”

“…shut up!”


	28. Behesting currents

In spite of imagined torrents and emboldened retributions, the tower of Amber Ledge lies still, even days after the intrusion upon forbidden grounds by audacious mortals and scattered numbers of red dragon allies. No call had been issued, no promises of a score was being pivoted as a clash to settle. It’s tricky to determine what awaits, whether the blues are simply prowling in anticipation or Malygos and his ilk have other affairs to decipher, but nevertheless, the Kirin Tor is appreciative of the intermission. This assessment is echoed by a particular outsider too, even if her mind is tied up with a variety of other contentions.

Shuffling herself through the tight and regimented corridors, Kassari makes for a specific door, situated just outside her own rented room. Her posture is marginally hunched, compared to most days and as soon as she sets a few first steps inside, she exhales and slants into the nearest wall, giving off cues of a drained state, though the cause is unknown.  
Luckily, she does not have to linger on her tribulations in solitude. A certain someone has been expecting her arrival and as she seizes a seat, Khroga joins her. The orc carries two cups of steaming hot goldthorn tea, which she slides onto the table with delicate stability. Shortly thereafter, she grabs her own chair and from this position, leans towards Kass, nuzzling into her black smooth hair, an act the elf greatly appreciates. It’s the sort of affection she has been starved for in the last several hours of tumultuous discussions and strategizing.

“You okay, zak’tro?”

The orcish turn of phrase usually intended to be spoken only between lovers or other affectionate individuals conjures a light, but highly pleased smile onto the mage’s lips.  
“Better now, that’s for sure. Dealing with the Kirin Tor can be…overbearing at times, at least as far as the Archmage is concerned. There’s a persistent flavor of mistrust in the air. Could nearly taste it.”

Not being remotely impressed by the named individual, Khroga huffs faintly.  
“What does he know anyway?” She brushes a few tender fingers over the tip of Kass’ right ear, which twitches delightfully.  
“Want me to be there next time? Bring a bit of orcish flare to it all and make sure you’re treated right?”

Had her intent been to make her girlfriend chuckle, she does prevail.  
“You’re charming to offer, but it won’t serve to improve my relationship with them, sadly.”

“Meh. Their problem.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I can handle it.” Giving them both a measure of leeway, Kass plants her lips on Khroga’s cheek, ahead of returning to her chair. Obtaining a sip of the tea – allowing the sweet, hot and soothing liquid to spiral through her mouth and down her throat – her eyes soon drift to lock with brown of her partner.  
“Did you inform the others?”

Khroga partakes of her own creation as well, naturally, though in larger samples.  
“Hmm?”

“My sister and her friends. I told you to have a word.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Went to ‘em just after you left for that meeting. They had to get something fixed before-“  
Her train of thought and description is cut short by a knock on the door.  
“Well well, speak of the demons.”

Getting on her feet once more, Khroga strides to the door and past it, she discovers none other than Raxeen waiting, clothed in a casual attire that she’s been wearing since their prison break.  
The draenei bows her head in a gracious greeting.  
“Good afternoon. We came, as requested. I hope it is not an inappropriate time.”

Khroga stands aside.  
“Not at all. We’re just winding down, that’s all. Come inside.”

Without rising, Kass curls her lips and displays a brief smile.  
“Hey there, Raxeen. Feeling better?”

The mage deftly notes the lack of a limp in Rax’s step, which she bases her evaluation on.  
“Yes, I have been healing quite nicely, or so the menders have reported. My condition does feel more manageable, at the very least.”

“Glad to hear it. Your actions back in the prison were tremendously heroic and it would have been a mighty shame for you to be punished for it by cruel fate.”

“Heh, indeed. I suppose tragedy has badgered me enough already as it is, thank the Light.”

Not noting a particular individual, Kass furrows her long brows bemusedly, but only until she gets eyes on her sister out in the corridor, having walked several meters behind her companion. Rivaryn has, unquestionably, her beloved girlfriend in tow. This, in and of itself, does not give reason to fret, and yet Kass frowns regardless. The source is conspicuous – she can see just where Thariss’ enthused eyes are aimed.

It’s silly and perhaps a tad unwarranted, really, how extensively Kass’ annoyance for Thariss can at times mount up. After getting her sister back, the Arcanist suddenly feels…protective inclinations that go off like a buzzing alarm whenever the night elf gets too frisky in her vicinity. Now seems to be one of those days.  
The hunter, unaware as she is, trods through the halls in a very informal outfit, which clearly sits comfortably on her body, though the pants are quite snug and therefore conveniently outline the lower sections. This is not altogether accidental.

Being still meters away from the doorstep, Thariss maneuvers her hand fairly abruptly, aims and spanks her beloved’s butt cheeks, who gasps in shock and swiftly swivels around. There’s no rage or indignation involved, but Riv does chuckle and playfully slaps Thariss’ tenacious stomach and abs.  
“Thariss!”

The warrior smirks wryly right back at her.  
“What?”

“You know what!”

“Was just appreciating ya, that’s all.”

The expression isn’t fully imitated, but there is a faint elevation of the sin’dorei’s lips. She wraps her fingers around one of her girlfriend’s brawny arms and inclines into her torso.  
“Not in public, you…naughty fool.”

Thariss meets this rather meager defense head on with a flash of her teeth and fangs, bending her body downwards. One of her hands slowly and enticingly runs along the other woman’s side.  
“Maybe you shouldn’t flaunt that ass then, huh?”, she teases.

“…excuse me?! I was doing none of that! It’s called ‘walking’, you dunce.”

“Uh-huh. And the swaying was just a fluke?”

Unimpressively, Riv rolls her eyes.  
“More like your imagination. You’re seeing things."

“Mhm. Sexy things.”

Descending, her fingers soon reach and clench around the previously tapped rear. As the blood elf’s weight is next to irrelevant for Thariss, she can handily lift and haul the hunter up in the air. Despite a certain wish to protest, Riv permits the act, even encircling her legs across her lover’s waist. This is locked in place by her arms being planted behind Thariss’ neck.  
As Riv’s back gingerly hits the wall, her eyes shut in sync with the craving lips thrusting into hers. She can’t possibly disregard the shiver of excitement she obtains, practically every single time that these large, headstrong and yearning hands fondle her. The subsequent kiss is intense, as the warrior’s tongue drills into her, abiding no contest. An irrefutable urge fills her, and her mind submerges into the pleasure, shutting out all other background elements, to the level where she could almost-

“Can you please wrest your tongue out of my sister’s mouth and be civil for once, Dusksong?”

The sensual and sultry motions are ceased on the double, followed by a brisk twitch and jump from the hunter. Thariss, however, merely steers her grin from one Silvershroud to the other.  
“I would, but your sis can’t get enough of me. Should see whenever I start licking-“

Whatever she had hoped to detail, it never leaves her head, as her mouth is closed shut by the hand from an aghast Riv.  
“No! We are _not_ discussing this in front of her.”

“…and I absolutely don’t wish to know!”, adds a mortified Kass. Thariss chortles as she kindly drops Riv to the ground.

As the couple wanders into the boundaries of these lodgings, Riv kicks their visit off by slipping into a hug with Khroga, which the orc gladly reciprocates.  
“Still unscathed after wrestling with the Kirin Tor all this time, I hope?”

“Tsk”, Khroga emits without distress. “No question. These humans pale in comparison to what a summit of shamans back in Orgrimmar can be like. This is almost a vacation.”

The hunter giggles, content with Khroga’s undaunted attitude and the retention of her humor. In her peripheral vision, she notes the cups waiting on the table.  
“I’m glad and relieved you’re here. Means a lot to me that you’re so good to Kass.”

The shaman’s disposition recedes from a flippant edge to a relaxed stance. Her gaze shimmer with a pervasive fondness as she sets it on the good mage.  
“What can I say? Gotta take care of those you love. Mother hammered the importance of family into my head.”

“Heh. Sounds like a sagely woman to me, one we can surely use among the tattered remnants of our House.”

After granting Khroga a pat on her shoulder, Thariss directs herself at the younger sister. Of course, despite Kass being a mite miffed, this does not prohibit the warrior from striding up and embracing her. The prickly exterior from the sin’dorei lingers only for a limited time, prior to yielding, at least physically.  
“Someday, you’re going to end up in real trouble when you run afoul of a more esteemed individual.”

Unsurprisingly, Thariss is rather cavalier about the whole affair.  
“Bah. Been there, done that.”

With the greetings dealt with, the whole trio is invited to take a seat each. As they get cozy, Kass slowly imbibes her tea and mentally adjusts her ideas.  
“I’m grateful you could spare the time, for I wish to update you regarding our current state of affairs. Well, I assume you have some measure of interest in this progress.”

Thariss, who’s idly brushing her fingers across Riv’s back, merely shrugs.  
“Not exactly stoked, but if you wanna share.”

Kass resists the impulse to frown and pushes on.  
“On our latest briefing, the Kirin Tor confirmed that they have now established a base of operations – albeit temporarily – within the defensive perimeters of Coldarra. A multitude of issues are yet to be solved, where erecting a stable teleportation system is perhaps the chief concern from my own point of view, but they’re getting there. From the interior, it seems likely that they will have the ability to attune the very core constructions of the blues’ ley line network within a reasonable timeframe and tear it asunder, should nothing go awry.”  
She skids one finger over the top of the cup, a pensive look suffusing her gaze.  
“Personally, I intend to stick around and make sure they succeed; with Khroga at my side, of course.” She alters trajectory, levelling her eyes on the other women.  
“I would love for all of you to join us. The work we’ve already put in has induced some substantial changes so far. Imagine what continued dents will result in.”

Sadly, her own light enthusiasm is not met in kind. Rax is distant, Thariss scratches the back of her head, while Riv’s ear flits back and forth, once or twice.  
“Well, we don’t necessarily disagree…”, Riv starts. “But fighting the blues isn’t our foremost concern.”

Kass likely didn’t rush into elation to begin with as she may have foreseen an absence of it in her sister. That does not preclude disappointment as an outcome.  
“Isn’t it? You told us it’s precisely why you teleported all this way.”

“True, but…we never aspired to actually delve into the complexities of a war.”

“Yeah, at least not this one”, Thariss concurs. “Were on board with getting Nadelgosa’s brother outta prison, but that’s where it ended.”

Kass scratches the right side of her jaw and crumples her brow a smidgen, while her ears inadvertently twitch.  
“I see your perspective, though I feel as if you shouldn’t allow it to govern your hearts. Remember that-“  
Once more, a noise interjects in their conversation, as a few thumps are distinguished from the door.  
“More guests?” Kass rises and strolls in a quicker pace to it. Outside, she discovers another set of elves, though only outwardly so.  
“Oh, Lady Nadelgosa, Lady Stellagosa. I hadn’t anticipated your arrival.”

In a courteous showing akin to Rax, Nadel dips her head.  
“No, I speculated as much, miss Kassari. We don’t wish to be nuisances, though we do request your leave to enter. We’ve come to understand your sister and her friends are within, and hope to speak with all three.”

“Hmm. Very well, you may proceed.”

Upon spotting the nature of their company, Rax appears unusually happy and though the drake makes eyes at her, neither choose to prompt any overly intimate actions. Stella has detected this link during previous days, as well as the necklace which Rax still proudly showcases, but she has no disputes. For now.  
“My friends, I presume you’re debating important subjects, but a matter of import has emerged. Our brother has seen some recent developments.”

“Oh?”, says Rax. “Nothing worrying, I hope.”

“That…hinges on what you categorize ‘worrying’ as.  
After a thorough investigation of his state, it now seems unavoidable that we can no longer keep him here, should we want to pursue substantial breakthroughs. We’ll have to transport him.”

An apprehensive mood had seeped into the room prior, but this now corrodes into far worse depths.  
“It’s that bad?”, Riv asks cautiously.

With her ears bent backwards, Nadel shuts her eyes.  
“Unfortunately, it is, even if his physical condition mends well. He sustained a tremendous amount of internal spiritual fractures upon some of the complex webs and frameworks which encapsulates our bodies. We fear he…might not make it.”

Her assessment might dip into too drastic and debatable results, visible via her sister’s rising skepticism. Stella steps up to her side and squeezes the older drake’s shoulders.  
“Let’s not jump to all too severe conclusions. From what we’ve gathered, it probably won’t end with such tragedy, but permanent damage could be likely. To reduce the risks of anything irreversible, we need to act fast and soon.”

Following a brush with panic, the merc trio manages to dig into a bout of resolve.  
“Where’d you need to go?”, Thariss inquiries.

“Wyrmrest Temple, a central assembling summit for all five dragonflights, would be the primary favorable location. The red dragons there possess some of the most skilled healers across all of Azeroth.”

“It wouldn’t be just the six of us plus your mounts, however”, Nadel continues. “A few of the more fit blue drakes that we helped rescue will align with us for the road. But, we would most obliged if you elected to escort us.”

Their words indicate that a priority must be made, at least where the mercenaries are involved. Ever the brash one, Thariss snorts.  
“What’s that now? A big bunch of mighty drakes couldn’t _possibly_ require the subpar assistance of a few puny mortals, could they? Nah nah, I musta misheard.”

With eyes still closed, Nadel rubs her creased forehead, hoping to suppress any potential anger. She doesn’t want to quarrel with the night elf, not this time around.  
“Thariss, please…”

“Just saying. Last time, you girls did kinda screw us over.”

“Not an…unfair judgment to make”, Stella concedes, “but your team has more than proven your capacity for strength, honor and guile. Your aid could be vital. And, in general, we feel safer in your proximity.”

Riv fixes the position of her hair tie, as she mulls their circumstances over.  
“Well, from my angle, I think it sounds like a terrific idea. It’d give us an opportunity to actually explore other regions of this continent, which was our intention anyhow.”

“I stand with you”, Rax reveals. “And not solely due to the dire situation at hand. We accepted and started this mission together. Pursuing it to the finish would be the righteous thing to do. We liberated Deradgos from his cell – why give up now, when his need is greater?”

With the previous snark having dispersed, Thariss is locked in a transitory and contemplative realm. She shrugs, kowtowing to the sentiments around her.  
“Definitely ain’t in a mood to go toe to toe here. Just thought it was kinda funny how the winds have flipped, but I’m not gonna scuffle ‘bout it. You wanna go, we’ll go.”

Both of her comrades are satisfied and Riv rewards her with a smile and a quick kiss on the back of the hand.  
“Thanks, dear. Glad you understand.”

“Meh. If you hadn’t been here…”  
She scratches her nose and discards the rest of the idea, resuming her focus on the drakes.  
“So, another teleport, I guess?”

Nadel shakes her head to dispel the notion.  
“Not in this occasion. The preparations and spellcraft it necessitates would be too slow. The ley line grid is still unstable, which would force us to begin from scratch. We shall fly you there instead.”

“It should go without saying, but this includes your animal partners too”, Stella assures them. “One fully grown dragon will accompany us on this journey, who has adequate strength to be up for the task.”

Should’ve seen it coming, but this information excites the night elf yet again, who trains a smirk expressly at the older drake.  
“Ooh! Finally time for all of us to get a ride from grumpy blue, huh?”

As sharply as a whetted dagger, Nadel glares.  
“…don’t get your hopes up.”

“Uh, technically, you already rode with me once”, Stella reminds them.

“Fair point”, Thariss assents. “A lil’ bumpy, but it was fun.”

Riv thoughtfully grazes her own chin, measures their scenario and tracks the most worthwhile deductions.  
“We should keep it scattered. I can ride with Stellagosa, since we get along.”

Thariss instantly raises her hand.  
“Dibs on Nadel!”

The room grows a tad silent, as a facsimile of a growl leaves Nadel’s lips, but only to the point of procuring the attention.  
“Out of the question”, she insists. “No one but Raxeen may sit on me.”

Not an unreasonable, nor unforeseen verdict. Thariss doesn’t even appear annoyed as she shrugs.  
“Tsk, knew it. Guess I can’t blame ya, since you sit on her all day long.”

The jab is evidently meant to aggravate her, but ostensibly goes way over her head, due to the befuddled look Nadel proffers.  
“…what’s that supposed to mean?”

The warrior is now quite exhilarated that she’ll receive a golden chance to tease the drake openly, but she’s impeded by someone squeezing her hand. Thariss glances sideways, encountering the disapproving emeralds of her future wife.  
“Thariss, no details.”

“What?”, she chuckles. “Won’t need any. Give her a sec, she’ll get it.”

Her prophecy does indeed end up being fulfilled, no more than seconds later, as Nadel groks the allusion, demonstrated by her widened eyes, suddenly glowing blush and concealing of her face with both hands. Stella giggles.  
In a show of compassion, Rax rises and walks over, caressing the closest arm with a tender grip.  
“I would say there is nothing to be embarrassed for, but…” She marginally slants her frame, planting her mouth closer to Nadel’s ear, to prevent anyone else from eavesdropping.  
“You are adorable this way.”

Too abashed to look the other woman straight in the eye, Nadel merely swats her shoulder, too lightly to make an impact.  
“You’re not making it any easier.”

Having been diverted from the conversation for a short while, Kass decides to intervene once again, sighing to cement her feelings.  
“Well, I won’t deny my disappointment, but I will acknowledge the more urgent emergency.” Riv becomes the focal point of her sight. “I’ll do my best to stay in contact regardless. If you get the chance, I suggest you head to Dalaran. This would enable me to dispatch a bird in that heading, with any updates.”

With their discussion coming to an early stop, Riv seizes her one window now to embrace her little sister.  
“We’ll make for the city at the first free moment we get. Be careful out there, okay?”

The warning prompts Kass to tilt her head, observe her sister doubtfully and then mildly bump her nose.  
“I need no lessons in caution from you, miss ‘get herself captured by kaldorei after she scurried off to Kalimdor all alone’.”

Riv is momentarily stumped, blinks bewilderingly and rummages through her mind for plausible comebacks.  
“What? But-…No, you can’t just-…but I was-  
…dammit.”

At least she receives a supportive pat on the back from the tallest elf in the room, though conjoined with a smug grin.  
“Damn, that was just right on point, huh? Makes you think.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face or you’ll sleep on the grass for a week.”


	29. One time lonesome

Buzzing bugs. The crowing of roosters. Bypassing children excitedly chatting a little too loudly early in the morning. Traders hawking their wares on the streets. A lot of noises that Melia had never expected to long for when they were contemporary, no more than ambience back then. Some days, she reveled in their rhythm; in others they were trifles she kinda wished she’d be rid of, or that they’d leave her alone. Not until the Plaguelands and up here, in the cold, oppressive northern glaciers, did it hit her how indispensable they really were. A sense of normalcy that she might never have again.

With the arrival of morning, Melia is thankfully not condemned to complete silence. As she steps out of her tent, the surroundings are teeming with commotion from the various soldiers. She heads into the center of her team’s camp and gets a piece of snack that has been cooked by the late-night shift crew, but upon turning to sate her hunger, she’s exposed to a stark element. She hadn’t pondered the implications last night, but it’s unmistakable right here and now – they have passed into the fabled icy wastes that she’s heard so much about.

In some tales they are dreaded, in others spoken of with awe, while most at the very least embellish the length. Not that it’s necessary, for she honestly has to hand it to whatever deity fashioned this landscape. The fjord which they burrowed through only days ago retained residues of greenery, of trees, grass and salient dirt. Not here, though. Dragonblight is the dawn of a winter land persisting in potential perpetuity.

Quickly skipping back into her tent, she fetches the fur cloak she nearly forgot and drapes it over her shoulders, prior to giving the camp a looksee. While sipping from a bowl of soup and a bottle of water, she combs the span of this gathering for a specific figure. In amidst a diverse crowd, she discovers the right one.  
Ashindra had been allocated to this final period of the night and is thus already wide awake, apparently tied up in a few soldier-based activities, though not sparring.

Instead, she can be spotted speaking with a few of the younger – or at least newer – crusaders and tries to take a mentor role. She corrects the angle of a tauren’s sword, who’s more used to hammers, informs a goblin that explosives are too risky on the front unless lobbed and fastens a dwarf’s pad narrower onto her shoulder.  
The last is an undead woman, timid and somewhat indecisive.

“S-Sergeant, I…I need some a-advice”, she stammers.

Ash steers a sincere, though not harsh, gaze at her.  
“Go on.”

Her grey and slightly decrepit skin has several stitches over it, including her face, and when she grimaces, there’s a noticeable stretch. She lifts her hand, attaching it to the other arm.  
“Lately, I’ve felt i-increasingly awkward around my shoulder. Can’t really feel p-pain like I used to, but…every time I block with the shield, I-I fear it might be…dislodged.”

Ash tilts her head as she scrutinizes the right body part.  
“Hmm. That’s tricky. I can’t exactly set myself in the position of having your condition, but I can give you a few pointers which I often benefit from.”

“T-that’d be…helpful.”

“Grab your shield.”  
Carefully, Ash rests a hand on the arm after her student has equipped herself and attempts to give tangible recommendations.  
“First of all, when there’s an incoming attack, try to slant the shield in order to reflect, rather than take the brunt of the blow head on. You have to follow movements step by step, make some educated guesses, but within acceptable limits. Don’t jeopardize other areas of your body.”  
She withdraws and presents the motions in tandem with the description.  
“Secondly, I gravitate towards angling my arm near my body in a sideways stance during heavier stints, as to not put all the burden on the limbs. Here, let me show you”, she says, before clutching the forsaken’s forearm once more.

Melia observes the entire encounter, which fills her heart with both energy and a burst of pride. Ash is acclimatizing remarkably quick into the second-in-command rank that she needs, and sports some of that charisma which has been stated but not previously displayed.  
As soon as Ash’s green eyes discover the Lieutenant, however, she disentangles herself from the cluster and almost dutifully treads over to the human.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Melia flashes a mildly playful smile.  
“And good morning to you too, Sergeant”, she returns the pleasantries. “I hope the last few hours have passed unremarkably?”

Ash nods crisply.  
“No adverse developments yet. Spotted some…unconventional creatures in the sky shortly after I took the reins, but that’s about it.”

This report sets Melia visibly at ease.  
“Excellent. Sounds like we’ll have a wide open road ahead of us. I do wonder how long that can endure, though. Northrend has been consistently troublesome.”

Turning to the west, in the distance, they can both note the large construction towering up above the white-dusted ground – Wyrmrest Temple. Measuring the remaining course, Melia ventures a guess that they’ll get there within a day.  
Leaving the other soldiers to their joint exercises, the two women drift away and seclude themselves. With the privacy, Ash’s features soften as her curiosity ramps up.

“Did you…sleep well?”

Melia tries to suppress the urge to smile even brighter. Inwardly, she can’t ignore how Ash has inquired pretty much every day since…well, the kiss. Makes her wonder if the paladin is hankering for more.  
“Not worse than most days up here. Although, gotta say, I long for the day when we get to sleep in real beds again. Feels like a lifetime away.”

The elf chuckles.  
“Now you’re being hyperbolic.”

A light smirk springs up on Melia’s lips as she jokingly pokes Ash’s side.  
“Yeah, thanks for taking the hint!”

“Tsk. But I concur. I may have served as a paladin for a decent few years now, but some luxuries wouldn’t be half bad. Maybe the Highlord will shed light on a more permanent arrangement, wherever his covert operation is taking him.”

“Heh, we can only hope. Actually, I-“  
Before they can examine the topic in any detail, a small team of people approaches from the outside.  
“Oh, is that one of our patrols?”

“From the other squads, yes.”

The inbound contingent is led by a male night elf, tall and pretty slim. Judging from the bow on his back, he must be a ranger. In his wake comes four more people of differing skillsets. All of them salute.  
“Lieutenant Haven, we have news regarding the Scourge.”

Melia shares a very brief glance with Ash and then nods at the scout.  
“You’ve been scouring the area?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. We were dispatched by Sergeant Revenor here under orders to get the lay of the land and investigate the adjacent terrain for additional hazards. Well, we did and stumbled into a few…unforeseen individuals – members of the Ebon Blade. They were en route to the Temple as well.”

To her side, the priestess notes how Ash’s ears perk inquisitively at the name.  
“Ebon Blade? Are you familiar with them?”, she asks Melia.

“Yeah, we’ve ‘met’, so to speak”, Melia divulges. “They’re a group of death knights that were freed from the Scourge’s control. Remember the army that struck the Chapel and botched it? Same crew. They now battle their old faction. I hesitate whether to say, ‘with us’ or not, though.”

With an opening, the scout proceeds.  
“The small detachment we spoke with were astride on…skeletal horses or something similar, led by a human called Wilthorn.”

Melia nearly freezes, her eyes widened.  
“Wilthorn…”, she repeats, voice pervaded with shock.

“Correct.”

Getting exceedingly intrigued by the reaction, Ash’s eyes scans Melia’s face.  
“Anyone you know?”

The priestess dismisses the question with a handwave.  
“Continue, Corporal.”

He chooses not to comment on their interaction and obeys.  
“The Ebon Knights are allegedly vying with the Scourge over at Zul’drak, a zone to the northeast, where the Lich King’s forces have besieged a regional troll Empire. They witnessed how a big chunk of hostile undead broke off and headed in the general direction of Wyrmrest. According to their own words, they grabbed their steeds and tried to get here first. The Temple is apparently about to have it even tougher.”

“Alright. Thank you, Corporal. Go get yourself some breakfast”, she commands, albeit in a partially absent manner. “And tell the troops to get prepped. We need to set out as soon as possible.”

The night elf salutes once more and executes her will.  
In the meantime, Ash is drawn towards Melia, her mind buzzing with questions.  
“That sounded…serious.”

Melia fidgets to begin with, oscillating whether to lay the truth bare. Not like she’s required to. As the superior officer, she acts on her terms.  
“It’s…nothing. Not important.”

But it won’t be so easy to discard. Doubt has already festered, and Ash furrows her eyebrow, as she navigates the slippery and winding mental path ahead.  
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it has hit home somehow, and I’d like to know why; providing that it isn’t too private.”

Unsurprisingly, Melia is…conflicted. To appease her, they relocate to the outskirts of the camp, a private range. Meanwhile, she looks out over the sea, the glistening blue entity to the south, though she seems more focused on what lies beyond.  
“Wilthorn. That’s a name I haven’t heard in…a few years.”

“You know him?”

“I…can’t say. I knew _a_ Wilthorn, that’s for sure.” She creases her brow and wraps arms around her own waist.  
“There was a young officer in the Stratholme Guard who grew up visiting the Temple of Light pretty regularly. He and I were of a similar age and became fast friends until...”

She clears her throat in a mildly abashed sense. Ash quickly groks the implication.  
“There was something…affectionate.”

“Uh, yeah. We were sweet on each other for a while”, the human attests. “Funny part is, mom never liked him. Thought he was too mischievous and flippant, didn’t pay enough attention to the services. Can’t say I ever fully agreed. He was like any other kid when homework is concerned – they’d rather be out playing.”  
Melia smiles faintly and tucks some hair behind her ear.  
“All the same, the two of us did fool around for a couple of months. Got into all kinds of trouble.”

Even though Melia is unveiling her own secrets, Ash grows a tad awkward.  
“Oh uh…well, think I can fill in the blanks for where this is going.”

The priestess lets out a minor snicker.  
“Point taken. But you’re right. He was…my first. Not the last, but it’s why he made an impact. Our relationship wasn’t lengthy.  
The last vestiges of a good memory I have of him is during a supply escort to the temple, days prior to the…incident. Or was it weeks?” She exhales through her nose. “I can’t keep track of the timing anymore. All sort of blurs together.”

“It’s a reasonable reaction. You two weren’t bonded at this stage, I take it?”

“No, this was years after our breakup, but we were still good friends. He informed my mother and me of the plague, but was lacking in details.”

They’re walking over a thin and erratic line here, one Ash doesn’t wish to burst, but she presses on due to swelling captivation. She has to hear more.  
“Did he fall before or after the erm, tragedy?”

It doesn’t escape the paladin how Melia slowly inhales.  
“In the middle. I’m sure of it, since he was on guard duty that day. No clue as to the correlation between my Wilthorn and this fella, however. He wasn’t an extraordinary man – just another soldier.”  
Shutting her eyes, she lays a hand onto her forehead.  
“It’s sort of weird. I maintain memories and occasional images from the time preceding it, but nothing crucial. Just little snippets, excerpts of peace. It was fairly calm and quiet before it all broke apart. This wasn’t for a lack of conflicts, but despite of them. I recall how news of the orcs’ breakout had reached the streets. Some feared a new war, others didn’t wanna relieve themselves of a prized serenity.”

Ash’s left ear twitches in thought as she rests a hand on the hilt of her blade, a reflexive motion.  
“Oh yeah, the internment camps. Had almost slipped my mind. We merely picked up hearsay of that operation.”

“Quel’Thalas was quite thoroughly sealed, so I get why.  
For me, the most memorable was probably the fact that it was the last instance where mom and I sat down to discuss the oncoming autumn schedule. Had certain festivals and holidays that the church organized. Most years, I’d only been part of the planning procedure, but that late summer, mom wanted me to be in charge of one tied to Hallow’s End.”

“Sounds like a fairly substantial responsibility.”

“Oh yeah, it was. Not like I wasn’t nervous, but also teeming with anticipation.” Her head shakes tentatively. “That day never came.”

Ash restricts a desire to reach out, predominantly as she can’t predict what it will make her feel.  
“Final regrets – I’m familiar with the concept.”

A wistful smile is displayed for but a moment.  
“I bet.  
The spread of the plague was discouraging, sure, but none of us had envisioned that it’d be taken all the way to Stratholme, nor that there’d be an outbreak. Felt like…a distant threat, nothing we’d ever witness up close.”  
Melia abruptly veers away, stopping dead where she is, and Ash follows suit. The elf perceives how her superior’s shoulders marginally slump and she brushes her fingers over the mace at her belt. It takes a few seconds for her to recover and by that point, her volume has decreased.  
“I beg your pardon. Didn’t mean to…vanish.”

Sensing the parallels to her own past from the bubbling across Melia, Ash figures it’s best to drop the reluctance. She shrinks the space between them, perching herself by the human’s side and levels a hand onto the closest shoulder.  
“It’s alright. Like I implied, I know what you’re going through. It’s okay to let it hurt, even now.”

Melia’s sigh is almost steeped in frustration.  
“I know, but it’s so…grating, to revisit that day. I can still conjure all those mental images, of hearing the Prince waltzing in, issuing his horrific orders, how the entire city was burning, everything we’ve ever known…  
Nothing we could offer that sonuvabitch placated him. I can’t believe I ever-“ Her next intake of breath is shaky, bristling. She has shifted from sorrow to fury.  
“I can remember how mom came running back as I was holding a lesson for some of the kids. She was all but cut in half, before some of the defiant city guards protected her, granting her enough time to escape. The two of us rounded up as many as we could and led ‘em to the tail end of the temple, but not to hole up – there was an escape tunnel. Guided everyone out personally.”

The paladin squeezes her shoulder.  
“A valiant decision, to be sure.”

Pinching her own arm somewhat, Melia tries to cool her temper before she dares look at her companion again.  
“I’m sorry, Ash. Didn’t mean to give you the whole monologue out of nowhere.”

A knowing smile materializes in return.  
“I don’t mind at all. It’s good to get it out, for the heart and the soul.”

Melia exhales heavily.  
“Guess it does have a therapeutic value, yeah.” She shakes her head, letting go of her own arm.  
“But now isn’t the time to get bogged down in heartbreaks. We have to deal with these undead that the Ebon Blade warned us about.” She slowly angles back to the dragon temple and gains a harder, determined gaze.  
“The first time, I ran when Menethil’s troops came for us – I won’t be doing that ever again.”


	30. Back to back

The skies are grey and unruly, burdensome to predict, as this day reaches its middle heights. No sun is present to offer what little hope might have existed to the denizens below.  
Clamor and clatter of metal, squeaking and splintering of bones, squelching of rotten and decaying flesh all whirl with the cadence of an unrelenting tide against the gargantuan tower, unsettling every nerve and straining every muscle.

The Scourge has come to Wyrmrest and they’ve brought along every tactic, minion and device meant for war that they can muster. The full army is not participating, but their numbers are enough to cause serious trouble and distress.  
Up until this moment, they have struck against at least two separate flanks, which was arduous enough for the Temple’s defenders, but that’s not the sole snag in the mix. Not only are the forces of the dragon stronghold fairly limited already – as all dragonflights haven’t had the opportunity or resources to spare – but additionally, they are beset by blue dragons that have withdrawn from the alliance and then launched a treacherous assault. Not to mention the fact that the black dragons have avoided this struggle altogether, depriving them of essential soldiers.

The fear in their hearts picks up by several degrees as the guardians are suddenly set upon by a fresh influx of Scourge reinforcements, without much forewarning. The dragonkin are vigorous and mighty fighters, but through sheer numbers, the Scourge can overcome such obstacles and flip the odds in their favor. As time elapses swiftly, this is the route which the battle is chasing and there are few avenues of a comeback to scour for.  
The outlook of the battle for the longest time is grim and internally, plenty of the draconic warriors prepare either for the inevitable or to execute contingency plans which their leaders have prepped, to preserve what can be saved. Either way, lives will be lost.

Fortunately, fate does not seek to embody such cruelty this day. From left field – literally – comes a second force to join the fray. This one does not merely consist of undead, but many more living, of all origins and sizes.  
They charge in on foot, with a wide assortment of capabilities at hand – from paladins, warlocks and mages, to priests, warriors and archers, as well as members from every race represented in the Horde and Alliance. At the forefront sprints none other than Ashindra, with her shield strapped to an arm and the other deftly grabbing her sword, Vem’tavir, hoisting it into the air, calling everyone to action.  
“For Azeroth! For the Light!”, she shouts and the rest echo her fervor.

The crusaders nearly crash into the hostile host like the head of a hammer onto brittle wood, though they radiate a fierce sheen of blazing light, which sears and melts the flesh of their foes. Some scatter, fleeing in instinctual fear, while others give way to reclaim their bearings.  
Ash helms the frontal subgroup, administering specific adjustments or shifts in movement. In the meantime, Melia commands the overarching battle from a more pervasive view in the back row, while providing support. Her allies maintain a rejuvenated and fortified status, as enemies see holy fire rain down upon the unjust.

The surprise attack is a triumph and they make a lot of headway for a time, but such success has a cap. They start to take the depraved side of the undead a bit too lightly, underestimating their formidability and cunning. This division of the northern armada contains more than mindless pawns alone.  
Unbeknownst to them at the outset, one small section of the Scourge battalion uncouples itself from the cannon fodder and slithers in behind the crusaders, disappearing into the shadows.

They don’t pick up on this fact until soldiers along the rims and furthest lines begin to fall, one by one, to nigh unseen sources, fading into perceivable nonexistence shortly thereafter.  
Ash, with her decent situational awareness, is one of the first to take note. She steers her attention towards her commander, after having devastated a trio of ghouls.  
“Lieutenant! I believe we have unwelcome company.”

The human looks at her second-in-command and construes the cues Ash lends her, by performing a couple of hand signals they’ve practiced.  
“Got it!” A split second later, Melia is priming a spell.

Meanwhile, Ash swaps direction, finding one of the orcs among them.  
“Braktog, redeploy to the right flank, on the double! Forsaken troops, regroup on Private Braktog! Move!”

With their undead allies out of harm’s way, before long, a stream of Light energy gushes out of the priestess, simulating a pulse of unyielding brilliance. It disperses the shrouds around the immediate vicinity. The damage is minimal, but the effect on those who prowl is dramatic.  
A few agents of mayhem in their midst are suddenly unveiled, as well as brought into temporary disorientation, courtesy of the almost poison-like effect which the Light has on their anatomy.

Some of these entities see no other recourse than to flee, procure some distance between themselves and this excruciating beacon, but the idea isn’t universal. Some linger where they were compromised, and Ash snatches the opportunity.  
She storms into relative proximity, shield first. Attempting to bash one, she sprints without uttering a noise, even holding her breath. Somehow, this is not adequate enough to mask her approach. Out of thin air, the humanoid creature she’s assaulting summons a black blade with a red ominous aura, which it angles and blocks Ash’s shield with, and actually fares pretty well. It manages to stand firm, without losing the foothold.

With a stern scowl over her features, Ash glowers past the shield, square at her foe. She catches the dull grey or borderline light green skin – bruised and faded – claws on the fingers, wearing stark blood-red clothes and armor with golden highlights. She doesn’t know what abhorrent lowlifes would emulate her people’s iconography and motif, but she’s not about to let it-

And her thoughts expire, like hit by a brick to the head, when she stumbles over the face. The long pointed ears with just the right curve, the elongated eyebrows, the flowing – albeit tarnished and corroded – red hair, the nature of the blue eyes. She’s not simply staring at any kind of undead, but an elf, debatably a sin’ or quel’dorei. And a reasonably well-preserved case of one too, it’s fair to say. Not a ghoul or a flesh pile. And yet…

“What…kind of abomination are you?”

His mouth goes ajar, flashing the sharp fangs as canines. Reminds her of the kaldorei, but somehow larger.  
“The kind which will spell your doom, mortal”, he states, voice fluctuating somewhat.

A mere instant later, he’s gone, evaporating as smoke. He does not vanish, though, as Ash can still sense his undead presence via the Light.  
She whirls around in all haste and absorb the imminent attack with her spiked shield, shortly before retaliating with her blade. This atypical elf has honed alacrity however and effortlessly sidesteps her blow. This exchange continues for multiple rounds.

What she has on her hand appears to be a rogue or a mage, potentially a cross between the two and thus, she acknowledges the deficiency of a purely melee-centric combat style. Time to broaden her options.  
“Light, bless me with your dedication and clarity. Let me cleanse this realm in your name”, she beseeches quietly, calling for aid.

Unlike her battles at large, she does not instill her weapons with might, but the armor with sanctifying energies. Raising her foot, she stomps it into the ground, creating a field of consecrating illumination. No matter where the undead elf stands, it cannot dodge this spell, as the Light burns it from below. It emits what can roughly be deemed as a hiss, making it careen out in two seconds flat, in an endeavor to regain some leeway.

Ash isn’t about to permit even a wink of recovery and coats her shield in a layer of light. Unhooking it from her arm, she grabs it by the edge and hurls it like a frisbee made of reinforced steel. It bashes its target spot on, square in the abdomen of the man, contorting his body and hurtling him achingly fast onto the frozen grime below, while the shield ricochets to the ground a few meters away.

In lieu of taking the defensive action to retrieve her shield, Ash goes on the gutsier – and arguably more reckless – offensive, pursuing her explosive and righteous impulse to hunt him down. Alas, it misses the mark and her foe backflips out of reach.  
He does not disengage outright, however, but instead penetrates her defenses with a spell, striking her exposed leg. As she staggers, he locks her down with a hex, hampering her bodily control, making her lurch and grow sluggish. Her motoric skills slacken, and strength weakens.

As she falters, dropping to a knee, he confidently struts into her radius. Opening his mouth, he utters words in thalassian.  
“Mm, such rich and delectable flavor. Forgive me for the boldness, but your handiwork has worn me out. My stamina must be replenished, and I believe this blood shall do. Fear not, your essence will be put to good use. Perhaps past the feeble haze of life, you shall serve as we do.”

At first, it’s a mystery to Ash what’s really transpiring here. She has fought all manner of Scourge minions – necromancers, ghouls, skeletons, shades and so on – but this is new. One thing is incontrovertible – her power and fortitude, possibly her very life force, is being directly drained out of her form. In her current position, it’s unthinkable, nigh insurmountable.  
But no matter its actual true source or nature, this substance is coalesced with the putrid magic of the Scourge, necromantic fuel and undead taint. This is something she can confront.

Ash commences another internal invocation, in nothing but a mutter, amassing all she can muster.  
“Please, merciful Light, hear my plea. Encircle me in your empowering embrace and break these bonds.”

Once again, the prayer is received and yielded. On cue, a shield of dazzling radiance insulates and sustains the blood elf, splintering his connection to her.  
The bloodsucker is stunned at first, reversing by a step or two, but his vitality has now returned to the stage where he can sufficiently fight her without hindrance.  
“Hmph. A clever solution, light-drinker, but no more than a half measure. Once that bubble pops, the succulent blood of yours is mine. And oh, it will be a sublime experience to consume it, ounce by ounce.”

As she rises, Ash is now breathing heavier than previously. She knows there is a spell or two in her repertoire that can function as makeshift restoration, but this could be too costly to use when hell might descend on her in a moment’s notice.  
“You are _vile_ ”, she nearly spits. “Whatever you were in days gone by, I can see and hear you’re nothing but a monster.”

“Hah.” His laughter is meager and dry. “As blind as all of your kind. I was once like you, filled with audacity and pride, fierce to attain retribution for our lost brethren. But that is now a thing of forlorn memory. The hour of Quel’Thalas has passed, child of blood. The Scourge invasion was not a tragedy, but an omen.”

“Omen? So you’re not simply a disgusting creature, but delusional to boot? Fitting for a mass murder’s pawn, I suppose.”

He alters direction, slowly circling her static position, while swinging his blade around nonchalantly.  
“You growl, but we are not so dissimilar. In time, we will be one – the san’layn is the fate of all elves.”

Ash unintentionally bristles at this implication, virtually taking it as an accusation, perhaps a little too feverishly.  
“Not in a million years, you sunless cur! I’m _nothing_ like you, nor will our people ever be so repugnant!”

Melia, who’s deep in her own duel with some Scourge henchmen, suddenly catches wind of Ash’s outburst and pivots towards it. She’s shocked to see her comrade in the current condition.  
“Ash!”

In the sequential moment of the protective spell’s burst, the san’layn lunges at Ash and with the shield being out of bounds, Ash has no other comeback than to parry with her sword. She has trained a tremendous amount for battles of all styles and as such, she should possess enough versatility to safeguard herself, but not for any prolonged session; at least not with an opponent this tricky.

She does gain a lucky break, as Melia comes to extricate her. A fresh bubble – albeit more brittle – envelops her in its caring fortification, preventing the san’layn from whaling at her outright.  
“Step away, you bastard!”, cries Melia. “Not gonna let you have her!”

Not having noticed the swooping of the priestess, he turns to scoff underwhelmingly and switches to the Common tongue.  
“A human mongrel? How tiresome. Your blood is not close to as appetizing. Won’t quench my thirst in the slightest.”

“Oh yeah? Well, if you want someone to sate your hunger for a quick death, I’m your woman!”

“Paltry sense of humor at that. How typical.”

Ash, with briskly dwindled stamina, glances at her commanding officer.  
“Melia…don’t get involved. Can’t let him hurt you too. I can do this.”

“What? You can-“ Melia groans frustratedly. “Don’t be a hero now when you’re almost dead, you dolt! You can’t do this alone.”

“You don’t-“

The battle between the elves never resumes, for in the crusaders’ dire hour, they hear commotion to the west, out across the icy fields. The peculiarities that figure in are twofold – it is not shouting but roars and they originate from the sky, as opposed to groundside.  
The gazes of all three combatants are drawn to the heavens, to witness a glorious and unprecedented view.  
“Blue dragons?”, Ash asks out loud, anxiety grafted onto her voice. “When did they get here?!”

An entire dozen of the scaled interlopers fly in a vector which will cap off right above the battle – though, evidently, most are drakes, with ostensibly only one full dragon. This of course incites alarm in the majority of the crusaders and Wyrmrest protectors who witness the sight, setting themselves up for a showdown they never wanted. But they’re mistaken.  
The blue contingent dive closer to the surface and when they’ve all but arrived, riders can be spied on the backs of a few. Still in the air, one of them leaps right off with shield and sword in hand. She stomps and causes a minor quake, which sends half a dozen Scourge lackeys flying.

From the ground, she straightens her back, as the cold wind kisses her pale blue skin and rustles her short white hair. She flashes a wide excited grin.  
“What’s up, rot bags?! Didn’t think you’d get a Dusksong in town, did ya? Well, she’s here and your shit is about to get wrecked!”

Ash is startled.  
“Thariss? But then…”

This assumption produces distress in Ash’s chest, which distracts her. The san’layn jumps at this window, hogging it as rapidly as he can, to strike before either can reign it in.  
What he doesn’t anticipate is a guardian angel from above. A singularly accurate rifle shot is fired from the back of a drake, soars through the air and hits him just slightly off the heart region, making him tumble backwards.

The undead elf has to retreat into a safer environment once more, among its allies, granting Ash a breather which she didn’t know she required. Her eyes are lifted to the skies, converging with the familiar emerald green pair of another, who holds a smoking gun in her hands.  
“…Riv.”

Melia is inbound in a jiffy, hooking an affectionate arm around the paladin.  
“Ash, look at you! Can barely stand. Hold on, I got you.” She invokes the Light’s restoring blessings, to get Ash back in the fight.  
“There. Should keep you steady for a while longer.”

Ash feels the pressure sloughing off her and inhales comfortably as her legs stop shaking.  
“Thanks. I owe you…again.”

“C’mon, we’re even by now. Besides, reckon it’s not me you oughta thank.”

The human’s eyes follow the mesmerized ones of her partner, towards the riflewoman. She scans the other elf, as Riv gets dropped off closer to the ground by one of the drakes, meeting up with a red-scaled raptor who she caresses. Together, they fan out and hit the Scourge hard.  
From another location, Ash beholds how Raxeen lands with a separate drake and bolsters the Light-imbued forces with some of her own.  
“Pheta, sar vacha! Faramos ril’parn man’elar raki!”, she lets out, as her body shapes into a beacon of Light. Simultaneously, Nadelgosa shifts into her elven nature, to have a more precise control of the arcane and summons water elementals to stem the tide.

There’s a desperation in Ash’s wish to write off the nervousness she detects upon Riv’s pending approach, but it’s a real maze to unravel. Scourge troops stand in their route and after collecting her weapons, she slashes any targets she can reach, while Riv blasts some from her end, until they’re side by side, instinctively going back to back.  
“Riv, when…when did you get all the way up here?”

“Long story.” Over her shoulder, Ash both feels and hears her old friend firing another shot. “How about we discuss it over drinks after we’ve dismantled these vermin?”

Fixing the straps on her shield to fasten it properly, Ash’s expression is hesitant.  
“If you’re sure that you want to…trust me.”

It’s Riv’s turn to glance above her own shoulder, emeralds permeated with cursory curiosity over such confliction. Instead of quizzing, she attempts to motivate.  
“Well, if you’re too rusty to keep up, I can find a different partner.”

Ash rotates a quarter and lets the two women look straight at one another, surveying their circumstances. So many years has passed since a chance like this existed, when all hope did not seem to have been suffocated. Maybe Ashindra Revenor has not been abandoned.  
She puffs from her nose and shakes her head.  
“Don’t you worry, I can hold my own more than most. Think you can match me, Farstrider?”

Riv’s subsequent smile sends a vibrant shiver through her body.  
“You know it.”  
Once more, they thrust themselves into combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Rough translations that I had in mind for Raxeen's lines:_   
>  _“Pheta, sar vacha" = Light, bestow me with courage_   
>  _"Faramos ril’parn man’elar raki" = These unnatural spirits will not be granted another tile_


	31. Once friends, once hearts

Serenity once more, upon the snow-dusted steps along the Path of the Titans. The battle of Wyrmrest Temple has ended – or at least been brought to a temporary pause – and as it reached its twilight, the living stood as undaunted victors. This was by no means as a result of the Argent Crusade’s involvement alone, but the blue dragon squad coming from the west was a major point in their favor, at the end of the day.

Nevertheless, the outcome was not a complete net positive – casualties and fatalities were suffered by the winning side, detriments they couldn’t skirt around. After saying their farewells and quick prayers for these fallen hapless souls, there was no other recourse than to burn them, to prevent future reanimations. As for the casualties, they were all escorted into the temple, where defenses were shored up and stretchers were brought out of storage for them to rest on.

Melia has taken it upon herself to organize the healers and menders, in order to patch up dragonkin and crusaders alike, while simultaneously, another Crusade-Lieutenant handle defense revisions, should the undead emerge unrehearsed.  
On Haven’s orders, Ashindra began to file a report detailing her fight against the mysterious san’layn figure. As the human has a few words with a draenei priest, Ash makes her return.

“Lieutenant, my report is completed. I’ve already compiled a copy too, so we may dispatch it to the other higherups in separate regions.”

Following a dismissal of the second priest, Melia skims the text, nodding slowly meanwhile.  
“Alright. I’ll get into the specifics later, but I trust you know what you’re doing. It’ll be pivotal for Highlord Fordring and all of the top officer staff to get a read on these, before we get into any more scraps.”

“I can do nothing but agree with your assessment.” She folds her arms, creases her brow tentatively and draws her gaze to the ground. “Fighting them back there was…distressing. Never before have I wrestled with a creature of this breed. They were not only smarter, but stronger than the bulk of Scourge monstrosities. If we can’t find a way to neutralize such a threat, it could spell future disasters.”

“No doubt. Definitely on the same page in that regard.”

Just one single night has went by since the showdown, which is why the memories are still fresh for Ash, as is the sore condition. The repulsive notion of what the Scourge are doing to her people’s dead is a flavor that won’t leave her mouth, like an immutable sting. She has to bite her tongue to facilitate her own desire for a topic swap.  
“Any news from the other fronts?”

Sliding the document in beneath her robes, Melia’s eyes drift to a differing avenue in this slice of the Temple.  
“Yup. Heard from Horde and Alliance representatives that are stationed in the vicinity, if you wanna be filled in.”

“Please.”

“Well, apparently, both factions are gathering tremendous numbers for a critical strike, according to the troops I chatted with.”

Nowhere in sight at the moment, but Ash is aware of the two referenced individuals. Didn’t catch their names, but she saw a kaldorei woman and a male orc – both which had discharged glares against one another.  
“Anything concrete?”

A sigh and a shrug from the priestess.  
“Had a few stiff words, but you know what they’re like. Not very forthcoming as per usual. Wanna keep the granularities under wraps.”

“Even from their allies?”

“Does it surprise you?”

Ash lifts her hand, ready to detract, but as no worthwhile words swirl around, she submits.  
“Maybe not. This does raise the question of what the Crusade has in mind, though. Should we not engage with them?”

“Sorry, Ash, but there honestly isn’t anything in particular we can undertake in this case. If the two factions don’t wanna have a rapport, there is nothing to cotton onto. We’ll have to hold this position and wait for orders. A Crusader-Commander of some stripes is supposed to arrive from the north at one point or another. Until then, our squads stay put.”

“Hmm. Fair enough. Their loss, I guess.”

With this subject ostensibly wrapped up, though not wholly resolved, Ash turns her attention elsewhere.  
Wyrmrest Temple is a strange form of construction, from her point of view, by nature of its design. By the dragons’ account, there are upper levels, but no stairs which aligns to them. In the crusaders’ current location, there is one big central chamber, with lots of people, but no avenue of elevation. Then again, this is presumably an element they can pin on the fact that the constructors possess flying capabilities and therefore does not stipulate linked roads between the tiers. Prioritizing the needs of mortals was probably never a factor.

In this central complex, across the room, they can observe how Rivaryn, Thariss and their mounts are all standing side by side on the floor, lingering near a wall, mostly relaxing. Earlier on this same day, Ash detected how the blue dragons they flew upon – alongside Raxeen – departed the scene after having assisted with the task of carrying the wounded fighters by serving as makeshift transport vessels. They scaled the height of the tower, with the motive of contacting the reds. Riv had clued them in, delineating the matter of an exceedingly scratched up dragon that they were sustaining, which his jailors had done quite a number on. They hoped to solicit the reds to nurse him back to health.

But in the here and now, Ash’s concentration is latched onto the hunter rather willfully, though she would never confess that she’s captivated to see Riv again. It’s practically surreal how much of a transformation the paladin’s life has borne since their previous…bout.  
Unbeknownst to her, Melia’s vision is funneled into her during this sequence. Eventually, the priestess’ curiosity is getting the better of her too, in light of Ash staring at this woman so keenly. Rivaryn or whatever her name was, certainly is…enticing. Perhaps to a drastic degree.

To snag some momentum, Melia audibly clears her throat.  
“Who is she?”

Ash flinches slightly, before finally returning the spotlight to her superior. She anxiously tucks some of her hair away, recognizing that she was blatantly gawking.  
“…p-pardon?”

“The lady you tore apart a bunch of Scourge with yesterday. Seems like you’re well-acquainted.”

“Uh…yeah. Rivaryn Silvershroud.”

She remembers both names? In Melia’s book, that can only insinuate how this woman has made a significant dent in Ash’s memory banks.  
“Someone close, I take it?”

“In a sense. We were…friends.”

Melia’s brow arches in a highly disbelieving manner at the insecure tone in the application of that term.  
“Friends, huh? A lot of fuss for one lil’ buddy, if you ask me.”

The concern multiples as Ash scratches her neck and averts her eyes.  
“M…maybe more than that. Some years have elapsed since we were able to, erm…”

Her words go adrift, lost in suspense, a result which does not placate Melia.  
“The two of you were irresistibly drawn together earlier, like a kobold to candles. Some kinda magnetic force on the battlefield, unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Mm, true enough. Riv and I are longtime friends, all the way back to our intertwined formative years. Even so, our last encounter was…combative. When I saw her touch down, I couldn’t tell whether she was all set to hug or slap me.”

Melia blinks, nonplussed by the allusion.  
“Whoa. Doesn’t exactly sound like an action a friend would take.”

Great, now she framed Riv in a temperamental style – not at all what Ash had in mind.  
“You don’t-…it’s a convoluted scenario, with ample risk for failure.”

“Huh. If you wanna spill the story, just know that I’m here.”

“At a later date, perhaps.”

Cutting this one loose, Melia studies the hunter’s company.  
“Who’s the night elf?”

She overhears Ash exhaling from her nose.  
“Additional complications. Thariss Dusksong – Rivaryn’s girlfriend for the last year or two, allegedly.”

“…oh. Well, that ain’t ideal.”

“Tell me about it.”

Watching Ash, it’s difficult to determine whether she’s thrilled or terrified at the prospect of conversing with the other sin’dorei. Someone else might have to give her a mental nudge.  
“You were still on track to have drinks with her, though, correct?”

The paladin hesitates, her long ears angling backwards.  
“That…was the arrangement, but I no longer know what to do. I mean, what would I even tell her after all this time? I feel like a dumb teenager for wavering like this, but I have to set things right between us. Our dynamic got so bent, on the heels of past tragedies, but I want to rekindle what sliver of association we can come by. I…value her too much to dismiss our whole lives together.”

To claim that Melia herself isn’t dubious as to what getting embroiled in this ordeal will entail would be disingenuous, but she acknowledges that her desires are pretty inconsequential in this instance.  
“What if I come with you, as support?”

She definitely caught Ash off-guard here, judging by the astounded expression.  
“Wait…you would?”

“Why not? We’ve stuck as team throughout this venture so far. Besides, Silvershroud is gonna have her lady as a tagalong, right? Simply fair that you get to bring a d-…um, ally.”

“A valid point, but…” Ash looks to be pondering her selection, whether this is a favorable outcome or if she’s merely trudging deeper into the bog of embarrassment. The answer soon falls into place for her and she grows comfortable with image her mind is formulating for her.  
“Okay, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. As long as we’re both delicate in our methods.  
So uh, whenever you’re ready.”

Melia smiles, finding no cause to prolong the affair. She drapes her hand onto Ash’s arm and steps close, their sides touching.  
“Lead the way.”

As they diminish the space between themselves and the elven duo, Riv and Thariss have already tracked the approach, though neither employ any preemptive decisions. The latter is etching some type of shape from a piece of wood with a knife, while the hunter is petting her raptor. Ash remembers seeing him back at the Black Temple, but she never conducted any introductions. There’s a second or two of tangible discomfort, until Ash clears her throat.

“Hello.”

“Hey”, Riv responds softly.

“Sup?”, is provided from Thariss.

Ash has to go further and swallows. It’s bizarre how swiftly her throat dried up.  
“You ah, mentioned drinks yesterday. Was that a turn of phrase or a genuine invitation?”

White eyes meet with emerald for an instant, gauging their individual states.  
“It was serious”, Riv testifies. “Are you up for it?”

“If it’s not too much of an issue…”

Thariss stashes the gear she was playing around with and rises to her feet.  
“Gimme a minute and I’ll fetch us a drink.” She nods at the human. “You in on this too?”

“That’s the plan”, Melia replies. “Unless you’re opposed to a puny human putting her nose in your business.”

Thankfully, Thariss chuckles at the jest.  
“Never. The more the merrier, I say. I’ll pop off and find a bottle for four.”

In the meantime, the blood elves are faced in intersectional lanes, searching the opposite display for the essence of their outputs.  
“A pleasure to see you again, Ash”, remarks Riv. "In spite of dismal context, that is."

“Yeah, likewise”, Ash concurs. “You…arrived in the nick of time. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t intentional, but I don’t regret the quality of our timing. Did all your troops make it?”

“Not everyone, sadly, but your disruption saved a great deal of lives, I speculate.”

Riv smiles, but in a polite manner more than heartwarming.  
“If need be, we’d do it again.”

With this basic small talk out of the way, the air cultivates an incredibly stale and tense value once more, as if they are unwilling to be the first to progress the discussion towards the next stage. Makes Melia feel awkward.  
It’s a relief once Thariss glides back in, holding a glass bottle in her hand, containing a blue glittering beverage.

“Only permitted me to purchase this one. Had nothing else to spare, or so they claim.”  
She holds it up to her eyes and furrows her brows in concentration.  
“Some sorta weird draconic liquor. Got it off this green dragon lady. ‘Voluminous dream nectar’, she called it.”

“…what does that mean?”, asks Riv.

“Beats me.”

Melia snorts humorously.  
“It’ll do, I bet.”

With everyone on their feet, they relocate and find a suitable spot to sit elsewhere. On the floor, obviously, due to a shortage of chairs; another aspect which the dragonflights show deficient comprehension for. Thariss produces one mug each for the women in her company and distributes a portion of the drink. Getting a whiff, it carries an enigmatic scent – they identify traits of blooming lilies and the aroma of freshly fallen rain on dirt, but this is inexplicably replaced seconds later, to conjure up images of the ocean and traces of their favorite dessert. Grabbing a sip incites similar fluctuating concepts.

“You know”, starts Thariss, “getting an inkling of why they put that name on the label now.”

“Yeah, they got the ‘dreamy’ part down pat, for sure”, Melia assents.

These comments are meant as tasters for the main thrust of this meeting, but they don’t achieve their goal – Ash and Riv are being redundantly demure. Ash rubs her arm, currently not wearing her full regalia, as she watches the floor and the hunter is fixated on grooming Razz.

In the heat of battle, it was a breeze to interact and collaborate, as adrenaline was rife and by extension, the survival instinct was thriving – no emotions to get in the way, purely intuition. But now, everything is back to a default and subdued status, with the ambivalence in tow. They don’t truly know how to communicate, regardless of the degree of their now defunct friendship.  
Trying to illuminate a conceivable path, Melia extends pleasantries to the night elf.

“Thariss, right?”

Unlike her beloved, the warrior is a tad more composed, lounging into the wall with her legs crossed, brushing her lips over the booze. Her eyes flutter at name being uttered.  
“She told ya, huh? Got it on the gold, yeah. Thariss Dusksong, professional demonpounder.”

She proffers a hand to the giggling priestess, who engages it midway.  
“Lieutenant Melia Haven of the Argent Crusade. It’s a distinct pleasure.”

“Oh yeah, caught a word or two about you guys. Somethin’ with the Light, or whatever?”

“Heh. A real condensed outlining, but it does sum up our fundamental ideology. The Light is at its heart.”

“Watched your deeds out there on the field, by the way. Props to ya, cuz I saw a lotta skill on display. Had the whole situation on lockdown, from where I was standing. Really gave those rotten scumbags a thrashing.”

A chuckle is evoked from Melia.  
“Thanks for taking note, but it is what we do. On our chart, after all, and I’m compelled to adhere to every detail of it. Of course, I won’t deny that I have personal stakes bearing on this campaign too.  
But your entrance was absolutely breathtaking as well. That flashy jump and a trembling stomp as the landing? Awfully risky, one might add, but a thrill to witness.”

If she sought to inspire a grin from Thariss, there’s traction, as the warrior performs this proudly.  
“Happy to please! Kinda my MO, all things considered. Like, undead aren’t too far off from demons. Squishier, but the same premise. Fighting against dipshits that wholeheartedly deserve their clobbering are too few and far between, for my taste, so you gotta savor it. Have to fess up that I’ve missed it.” Her enthusiasm briefly subsides, as she coughs.  
“Uh, for the record – the rot bag thing? Tell your Forsaken pals I didn’t mean anything by it. Going out on a limb to assume that they’re cool people, if they’re with you.”

“Very well, I’ll convey your apologies to them, even if it’s unlikely they overheard.”

“Do it anyway, just to be on the safe side.”

With the ice skillfully cut open and extracted pieces out of, Melia steers her focus to the elven companion, in hopes of progress. Unfortunately, her dissatisfaction festers, for both of the blood elves retain a reluctance to occupy any inch of social ground. Melia squeezes her own hand and homes her irritation in on Riv, who’s still predominantly making Razz her epicenter.  
“I don’t wish to dictate how you to do your thing, miss gunner-hotshot, but actually facing us is bound to help this whole mess along, I predict.”

Riv’s ears winces slightly and Thariss widens her eyes. Like almost instant feedback, the warrior quaffs her drink to stay out of this rocket’s course. Simultaneously, Ash is torn by the snappy spirit of the outburst.  
“Melia, please…”

“What? The point of this event was for you to have a dialogue, right? Sulking won’t get there any quicker.”

“Yes, but…”

She hears Riv exhaling and gradually sliding closer.  
“No, Ash, she’s right. Sorry, I wasn’t aiming to…be rude.”

“Welp”, utters Melia, “then you damn well didn’t-“

“It’s okay”, Ash intercepts. “No one got hurt.”  
The old friends expend another few moments at staring, but it now dawns on Ash what can alleviate some pressure and reap an ounce of privacy in the process.  
“We could go with thalassian, if you’re so inclined”, she vocalizes in said tongue. Melia marginally scrunches up her nose, presumably due to being omitted from the interaction, but keeps her lips sealed.

Riv strokes her own chin in contemplation, glances between the opposite duo and nods.  
“I’d be glad to.” The next act is the hunter’s and she beckons the paladin with a hand.  
“You didn’t get a chance to greet Razz formerly, did you? Come over, I’ll introduce you.”

Despite the gracious offer, Ash lingers at her seat, while her eyes float to the big reptilian-esque creature.  
“Will he…consent to it?”

The terse breathy laughter that leaves Riv’s lips gives Ash exhilarated goosebumps. Her memory betrays her as to when she last picked up a true representation of it caused by her. Far too long.  
“Don’t be silly. Razz is a good and friendly boy.” She gingerly caresses the scales underneath the raptor’s chin, and his eyes half-closes. Ash is positive she just heard a sound resembling a purr.  
“He’d never bite without incentives or my explicit command.”  
Revolting against her impulses, Ash abides and walks up to them. Razz glares at her in a cautious, starch capacity to begin with, which holds the paladin at bay.  
“Keep steady, Ash. Present him your hand.”

Inhaling slowly and expectantly, Ash does as she is bid. The large raptor head, boasting two stout columns of razor-sharp fangs, gets intimate, smelling the appendage industriously and thoroughly. Unearthing nothing to instill fright, he soon folds back and allows her proximity.  
“Was that...all?”

“Mhm. You got his go-ahead. Feel free to touch him.”

The paladin smiles in a conjoint nervous and delighted way, as her fingers mindfully grazes his scales.  
“Wow, he’s so…sleek.”

“Heh, yes. Not all of it is natural – I try to maintain his health and appearance as methodically as is viable. Plenty of surgical brushing and bathing, mixed with a sensible diet.”  
Ash beholds how lovingly and freely her old friend embraces what is essentially viewed as a killing machine by a large margin of their people. In return, Razz looks content and serene, permitting every sweet nudge.  
“Made sure to carry out a bunch of research first, obviously, by asking local trolls and tauren in the Barrens for recommendations, so I’d be fully in the know of how to tend to him.”

Ash shakes her head, but her lips remain curled.  
“You always had a flair for understanding animals. Can’t recall if I’ve ever had this type of opportunity in the past, however. The Darkspears I fought beside for the Horde kept their mounts secluded from ours.”

“Mm, I’m not unfamiliar with the conceit. Razz here can be somewhat guarded and prickly with new folks, but he takes to those he senses nothing untrustworthy from. As he’s settled down, seems like you’re now on that list.”

“Heh, yeah. Quite a relief.”

While Ash administers her care on the raptor, Riv seizes the chance to examine her.  
“Someone told me you were at the Sunwell in concert with our visit.”

The paladin swallows, a faint stream of stress enveloping her.  
“I…I was. Stood by the entrance, in fact. ”

“Why didn’t you come say hello, then?”

Ash nervously rubs her nose, ears pressing against her hair.  
“I…preferred not to infringe on your peaceful induction to it. You looked like you were in need of space.”

“What? Ash, you know I’d never view you as a nuisance. Aren’t we friends?”

“You say that, but…”

Riv is nigh blindsided by Ash’s meek demeanor. This is a far cry from her simmering fury at the Black Temple or the charismatic woman she knew way back when - the one who could charm her without strenuous effort. Who has she grown into?  
After trailing off, Ash holds for Riv to respond. Anything is acceptable right here and now.  
“So, the Argent Crusade, huh?”

The red-haired elf allots herself a glimpse of the tabard decorating her chest. She corrects some of the roughened posture it’s crumpled into.  
“Yeah, I…needed a breath of fresh air, as you might've realized. To reestablish and ground myself, I suppose.”

“A wise decision, in your circumstances. Does this suggest that you’ve lifted the chain from Quel’Thalas too?”

Here is where she shakes her head.  
“Not through and through. I haven’t officially resigned from the Blood Knights, just…taken a temporary leave of absence and transfer, on an indefinite duration. Lady Liadrin sanctioned it.”

“Sounds reasonable. The attire is a good fit for you too, I think.”

Ash is moderately and surprisingly psyched by the tone of it, pining for a compliment.  
“You…you do?”

“Without a doubt. Gold was always more of your color.”

A smile sprouts on Ash’s lips, but she covers it up with a cough.  
“Well, there’s erm, a grey majority on this one, but-“

“Tsk.” Riv playfully bumps her arm. “Don’t ruin my compliments with technicalities, dummy.”

“…sorry.”

In due time, someone has blatantly reached the juncture where she feels they’re overdue and coughs interruptingly, to draw their gazes. They note a mildly vexed Melia.  
“Hey. I recognize I’m butting in, but…not that I have any issues with listening to thalassian – it’s a gorgeous language, really – but I don’t speak a single iota of it.”

Ash explores her friends’ expression, wondering what prompted this choice. Was it worry? Everything was going well, so that can’t be it. She couldn’t have been…  
“Yeah, I’m on board with that”, states Thariss abruptly. “Don’t know squat ‘bout it either.”

“Glad to not be alone in this. I imagine it’s not quite as bad for you, though, is it?”

“Mm, not unfair to say, but there’s a lotta differences to darnassae. In the end, it comes off as garbled babbling. Pretty, I’ll give ‘em that, but babble all the same.”

Riv reflectively taps her fingertips at her cheeks.  
“Oh. When you put it like that, yeah, guess it is a little excluding. We can rectify this, however.”

“Apologies, Melia”, Ash directs to the priestess. “We only wanted a moment.”

“No harm done”, she replies. “I get the caution and all that, but I assumed you’d kick it off in this respect and then ease back. My mistake.”

With a fresh situation on their hands and friendlier relations cemented with Ash, Riv's interest for Melia flourishes.  
“What did you say your surname was?”

The human amends a few strands of hair and stretches her back out.  
“Haven.”

“Hmm. Getting the vibe that I’ve heard it before, but can’t identify the specifics. You’re not from Stormwind, are you?”

“Ah, yeah, I suspect you have. I’m from the north like you, but Reliena Haven, Bishop of the Temple of Light in Stratholme, was my mom.”

A shimmer of awareness traverses Riv’s eyes, as her ears tilt glumly.  
“…oh dear. My condolences. Your home, I…”

Melia hoists a hand, quelling what’s likely to emerge.  
“It’s fine.” Ash knows it’s not, but they all share the same psychological burden. “Thanks for sentiment.”

For a couple of seconds, Riv is shaping up to go astray, but a consoling hand from her beloved onto her shoulder reverts her to reality. The crusader duo bear witness to the hunter gratefully squeezing Thariss’ fingers, prior to prepping herself for a reboot.  
“So, eh, just basing it off what I’ve discerned from your mannerism, but I take it you’re Ash’s girlfriend?”

Ash is holding her drink at this exact second, barely having a sip, but virtually chokes on it instead. In contrast, Melia is so startled that she lets out a tiny giggle.  
“…wait, what?”

“Aren’t you?”

The Lieutenant has no choice but to aid Ash with a few taps on the back, as the paladin coughs violently. A number of moments later, she blurts out a bashful retort.  
“N-no! By the Sunwell, where did you-…we’re not-…why would you even-“

Whereas the paladin fumbles, Melia laughs, both joyfully and slightly embarrassed. Riv partially mirrors this impulse, as her cheeks redden.  
“Well, crap. Sorry, I’m sorry! You were so close on the battlefield and your chemistry made me infer that…y’know.”

“That doesn’t…”

The preceding strips of hostility Riv had parsed from Melia swings away, to be substituted with elation, possibly relief.  
“Come on, it’s alright and a realistic conclusion. But I happen to be her superior, actually.”

“Ooh, of course, I see it now. That makes sense. Should’ve been implicit to me. But in my defense, that hasn’t stopped her before.”

Ash is now appalled.  
“Riv! What in Anasterian’s name!”

“Hmm? It’s accurate, isn’t it? You haven’t forgotten senior priestess Lenore-“

Rather hurriedly and in all fluster, the paladin swats Riv’s leg.  
“Shh! Shush! Don’t! Just…don’t.”

Luckily, Melia is really cracking up at their interplay, as does Thariss.  
“Watch out LT”, warns the night elf jokingly. “Word goes the little unassuming paladin over here can be quite a flirt.”

Melia smirks and glances at the aforementioned woman.  
“Don’t worry, I’m already conscious of her antics.”

Acknowledging how she’s losing this fight, Ash downs her whole drink.  
“…this is going to be a long visit, isn’t it?”


	32. Rays divided

Dragonblight has gone through transformations into quite a different region in the past few weeks, which would be evident should one contrast it with reviews of historical development for the last several centuries.

Preceding the Lich King’s stronghold getting set in stone, this land was renowned and revered all on its own by the dragons which it draws its name from, but this resulted in sparse activity and tranquility - as though it slumbered. Embodying nothing but the role of a wide-ranging graveyard, it could never have been styled as a fertile land – hence ‘blight‘ – but recent calamities have somehow, against all odds, doubled down on the wind of misery.  
With the arrival of mortal armies, adventurers and aides, the encumbered state has not loosened, quite the contrary. More than ever, the frostbitten soil shudders and the breeze carries tales of annihilation.

But there is a brighter side to all this dreary and ominously doomed chatter, for at least their efforts might bring an end to the tyranny of the undead monarch once and for all, if events proceed fittingly.  
The ploy which the Alliance and Horde had been collaborating on for an extended episode now, stayed classified for the few days which the mercs spent in the Temple’s confines, omitting theirs and any other faction’s participation. But the truth was to be unavoidably exposed, as they put their cards on the table.

As the sun coasts over the chilly sky and steadily strews its brilliance across the ice, a fresh battle punctures the solidified aura, but not by the dragons’ doorstep.  
Some miles to the northwest sits a colossal and robust gate, which is surprisingly freshly assembled. The draconic inhabitants of the Temple recounted to the mortals of the Scourge’s elected name for it – Angrathar the Wrathgate. The compound is allegedly shaped of a material known as saronite, a substance which the locals have heeded against, for it evokes the corruption of the Old Gods.

The aggregation of Scourge troops has been trickling out from this entrance, which merits the joint forces from the south to stem the surge by extinguishing it for good. Or so they hope. Either way, it’s under siege.  
For the mercenaries and the Argent Crusade, it stays as a distant, ambiguous operation, for neither have been allowed involvement. Their assistance was not enlisted, but given the scope and level of peril, it could be a fortunate outcome.

At this hour, Melia is standing at the outskirts of the humongous Wyrmrest Temple alone, viewing the siege of Angrathar from afar, though it’s merely visible with binoculars from this extreme range. The wall, for manifesting as such a lofty edifice at the foot of the towering and singularly imposing Citadel, is at least easy to scope out, which is why she has a target to lock onto. The eyes are solemn, miles away.  
Her solitude is of a fleeting quality, however, for she soon inadvertently receives a modicum of attention and company.

“Has it started?”

Melia is startled to the point of nearly loading a spell, but whirling to the source, she comes face to face with none other than Rivaryn. In a hurry, she tries to bottle all the surprise up.  
“Lightly, but the essentials and heavier strikes are yet to come. It’s what the red dragons communicated anyway.”

Like Melia, Riv has garbed herself in lighter clothes for the moment, as no battle lingers up ahead – a green tunic, white scarf, leather jacket and some black pants.  
“Any breakthroughs, you reckon?”

The priestess turns to the remote struggle, spotting nothing but the faintest of outlines.  
“Hard to say while we’re so far removed from it. They have plenty of hurdles to overcome, though. The Scourge are no pushovers, even when hard-pressed.”

“Yeah, I know it well.”

“What of your team? What’s the status of your dragon ally? There was one in need of healing, right?”

Riv nods briefly.  
“Mm, Deradgos”, she relays. “Thariss and I haven’t been up there ourselves, but Raxeen informed us he’s now revived, albeit will require a great amount of rest, in light of all the torment he endured. Those are the red dragons’ words, not hers.”

“Ah. He did seem to be in pretty rough shape. Hope they manage to fix him up and get him on his feet. Or claws.”

“So do I.”  
A cold and unconcerned wind passes them by, as a hush festers between them; in a way exemplifying their current personal terms in a symbolic fashion, with more poignant accuracy than any words have the capacity for. Riv clears her throat in hopes of still having a ghost of a chance.  
“Well, erm, you deserve praise for your heading out there, in all the mayhem during battle. Everything seemed to be coming through as a result of your tactics and the soldiers were all ears the whole way. Laudable traits of a commander.”

Still a tad snappy, Melia scrutinizes the elf disbelievingly.  
“Had you anticipated differently?”

“W…what? Oh, no no! That’s not what I-…  
I’m sorry. This isn’t what I meant to imply. I was referring to your…duty, I guess. Haven’t seen a lot of priests calling the shots on a battlefield. It’s not what I’m accustomed to, but you clearly subvert stereotypes and viewpoints taken for granted. I’m…I’m glad to have met and fought beside you.”

“Hm. Well…thanks.”

Another cold lick of winter flaps over them, making their hairs stand on end. In the corner of her eye, Riv notes how Melia’s face is somewhat strained and she still elects to stare at the landscape as opposed to the hunter. Riv had been wishful that their first meet and greet capped off positively, but this currently comes off as no more than a fantasy.  
At this stage, Riv can only imagine one way to douse the blaze, or at least diminish its intensity. Their single real common thread.

“So, you work with Ash. For how long now?”

The human’s expression does indeed soften by a fraction.  
“Must’ve been a few months, at this rate. No one had much demands for education or drilling from her, as she’s already a mighty proficient fighter, with keen battle knowhow. They slapped a rank on her chest, per my request, and then assigned her to my squad.”

A faint smile crops up on Riv’s lips at the visions her mind procures.  
“That really adds up. Ash has, as ever, been one to immerse herself with much vigor and high tempo into new roles and lifestyles. She’s not afraid to test her boundaries and beliefs. Or, uh…she used to be.”

The last remark prompts Melia to swirl towards her, picking over Riv’s image.  
“Yeah, apropos your relations…mind if I prod you a lil’?”

Riv corrects her hair and takes in a fresh waft of air, as preparational measures, prior to folding her arms and averting fully to the priestess.  
“Not at all, go ahead.”

“Well, the spirit of your relationship before the atrocities you suffered has had me…curious for a while.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

Melia grimaces in an unsatisfied fashion.  
“Meh, she made it open-ended and vague. ‘More than friends’ was the best she could deliver.”

“Hmm. That is…unusual.  
But I’m not going to put on an act or camouflage it – we were lovers, girlfriends and…well, extremely intimate for many years. Decades even.”

Previous antagonism exuded notwithstanding, Melia is gradually getting drawn into it and gaining an appreciation for the personal maze comprising this case.  
“Wow, for so long? Did you guys ever…?”

“Consider marriage?” Riv tilts her head downwards a few inches, the wistful smile on her lips now taking precedence. “It wasn’t on our own agendas, no, but lots of our friends and loved ones presumed that would eventually be the payoff. They recommended it in droves.”

“If everyone else was so keen on it, what stopped you?”

Riv breathes in deep, appearing as troubled by it as she feels.  
“Truth be told, I don’t know where we might’ve sailed off to. Chances are that we would have let the idea play out and see it through to the end. But the Scourge invasion tore any aspirations to pieces.  
Ash was what others call my…”  
A few seconds passes, though the word doesn’t come to her out of hand. She wrinkles her brow, trying to comb her memory for a decent term, but ends up short.  
“There’s nothing immediately matching my purview of it. Let me lean on thalassian instead – in our home, Ash would be titled ‘Nor’alah thoridas’.”

Melia’s gaze is directed at her, but the priestess has a look of complete obliviousness on it.  
“…I did say I’ve never taken lessons in that language, right?”

The hunter chuckles.  
“Yes, my bad. It means ‘As rays indivisible’ – the rays alluding to a facet of the sun, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Whoa. That’s so…uh, poetic.”

“Hah, it may well be for non-speakers. The closest parallel in Common I can think of is ‘soulmates’, but it’s not at the same profound degree.”

With such an affectionate thread, Melia bites her lower lip, oscillating in the crossroads of options. She isn’t certain whether grilling Riv with a wagonload of juicy questions is the right path or to straight up ignore her, for she’s still a little…miffed.  
But why would she apply the latter? What would it accomplish in the long haul? It’s not like Riv owes her or crosses her trail. And what road is that anyway? Does she yet realize what she craves, when Ash is the topic at hand?

She’s ticking herself off too intensely and goes for the fork to probe Riv.  
“Hate to put you on the spot, but why didn’t it work out if you were truly ‘indivisible’? I mean, that phrase sounds like a done deal to me.”

“A reasonable angle, which is…more complex than I’m able to convey, but…  
Well, for starters, it’s predominantly a figure of speech. Thalassian can be…flowery and frivolously theatrical. If I’m to be brutally honest, then nothing is eternal; not even love.”  
Her shoulders slump and her expression alters, taking on sincerity.  
“But I have to admit the chances were decent that it could’ve prolonged for many additional decades, or centuries, had the Scourge invasion not been jammed into our lives and ravaged all we’ve ever known.  
Don’t think anyone can ignore the fact that we were irrevocably changed as a result – myself as a vivid example. I can no longer circle back to the old person I was, the Rivaryn of the Farstriders, and in all fairness, I wouldn’t desire to. This identity I’ve built now and the reality I perceive, it’s my life. I’ll cling to it, as tightly as possible.”

Melia inclines her head slowly and knowingly.  
“There’s some resemblance with Ash in this regard too.”

“Yeah, so I’ve gathered. Ash is not who she was in my mind’s eye. She has progressed to a point where I can no longer keep track. Is there a single trace left of the woman I once loved?” She shrugs.  
“It’s lost on me.”

The deeper this chat runs, the more Melia detects how she opens internal doors for the hunter, as if Riv works her way through to the human’s heart.  
“Listen, I…I know this’ll be foolish to even put to words, but I gotta have an answer – do you still want her?”

Riv transitions to Melia, looking directly into the green eyes and scouring their territory. She exhales out her nose.  
“Straightforward and earnest – I respect that. But the answer is, as you probably suspect, no.”

“Not even a tiny bit?

“I…I do house some lingering affection for her, yes. Love, but a platonic emotion. I seriously doubt we’ll ever bond in a comparative way again.  
Besides, you’ve spoken with Thariss a couple of times by now, right?”

“Your girlfriend? I have. A very funny and good-looking woman.”

The lips of the blood elf curl somewhat, her mind drifting.  
“Mm. She’s a blessing and wonderful, in every sense of the word. She’s no longer my girlfriend, though – we’re betrothed.”

Melia’s eyes expand in shock.  
“Oh. Ooh! Wow, that’s terrific. Congratulations!”

“Thank you.  
Now here comes the…dicey part, as you might say - what are your feelings on Ash?”

It would always come to this, a line of inquiry they couldn’t skirt around forever. Melia does deviate regardless, turning her gaze elsewhere and runs a hand at the back of her neck.  
“I erm, don’t suppose that I…heh, can give this one a pass?”

“No one’s going to press you and you’re definitely not obligated to answer anything I ask, but I do think it’s only fair.”

Despite this sentiment and the rationale behind, Melia can’t disregard her innermost hesitation and gets convinced that she has to brush it off.  
“Not gonna lie and say you haven’t earned anything, but I get the sense that it’s misguided. She’s my subordinate and…that’s all there is.”

Riv tilts her head in a leery manner.  
“Is it now? So the way your eyes twinkle in her presence is just a hallucination?”

“T-twinkle? I…I dunno what you’re on about.”

Once more, a smile surfaces on Riv as she playfully nudges her fingers at Melia’s side.  
“You do. And to put it mildly, you were overdefensive when we had those drinks.”

Guilt marginally overcomes her and Melia bundles arms around her own frame. In a self-conscious vein, she pipes down, in spite of no outstanding company.  
“Okay, to be honest, deep down, I do recognize a…connection; a string which ties our hearts into one. We have philosophies in common and shared experiences. Ash is…funny and pleasant to speak with.” She sheepishly scratches her nose. “…and quite a looker.”

Riv laughs softly.  
“Too true.” She plants a hand on Melia’s shoulder. “I know what it’s like and this isn’t a reaction to scoff at. Hold on to it.”

The Lieutenant shuts her eyes and shakes her head lightly.  
“I wish to, but…it’s hard. Ash is so odd to read most days. Can never completely pinpoint her. Now and then, there’s a plain signal like she’s on board, if a little shy - which is cute - and then the next…she resets to all business.”

“I can’t nail down the exact cause of this, but my counsel is to stay on the course. Be stubborn, but not overwhelmingly bullheaded. Give her some room to breathe, but let her know where you’re at. If you do try to pursue this avenue, you have my support.”

Now, for the very first time since they linked up, Melia grants her a warm smile.  
“Thanks. Really. It’s comforting to hear you say it.”  
Almost immediately following the admission, she grows regretful.  
“But now I feel guilty for my previous behavior. I shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

Riv shrugs it off.  
“It’s fine. Water under the bridge.”

“You say that, but I owe you an apology regardless – I’m sorry.” Melia ponderously folds her arms.  
“To add onto what you stated earlier, my opinion of your performance tracks in a similar manner. You were excellent and I’m skeptical we would’ve survived without the assistance. If there’s an appetite for more, I’d like your team to accompany us after we depart. You’re mercs, correct? The Crusade is in possession of enough gold to pay your salaries.”

Riv is slightly taken aback, but not stunned.  
“A…generous offer, Lieutenant. It’s on the table for sure, but I’d have to chat with Thariss and Rax.”

“Naturally. We’re not out of here anytime soon, so you’re free to sleep on it.”

Soon, the duo is not left so isolated anymore, as two more people are inbound. Melia notes them right away, but Riv doesn’t parse it until Thariss herself friskily grabs the hunter’s waist and raises her up. Her initial response is to gasp, but only until she comprehends who she’s dealing with, where she switches to a giggle; particularly due to the night elf’s tickling.  
“That was terrible alertness, babe. Gotta be faster.”

Riv snickers and grabs Thariss’ nose.  
“Pff, shut up. I’m not exactly in any danger, am I?”

In return, Thariss playfully snaps her teeth.  
“With a hungry predator like me comin’ after ya? I should think so.”

A handful of seconds later, as they embrace one another in a tender kiss, with Riv digging her fingers through her lover’s hair, Ash clears her throat.  
“Lieutenant, we have company. Crusade-Commander Tailbirch has set foot on temple grounds.”

With an elated expression, Melia sets her arm on Ash’s and gestures for them both to bail.  
“Let’s not keep her waiting then, shall we?”


	33. Section Three (part 1)

_As the battle of the Wrathgate still waged and the gusts from the collision reached Wyrmrest Temple, many emotions and reactions arose as a byproduct. Precognition deemed it laborious to determine the result of the clash between the two sides, but in many ways, this could be seen as a positive element – if the outcome was not wholly decisive, it would imply that a chance for the living yet existed, which was more than many had ever hoped. The Scourge’s pure brute force was seen as insurmountable, but perhaps this single showdown would prove otherwise._

_Late in the process of the confrontation, Rivaryn’s team was finally approached by one of the Alliance delegates stationed at the floor of the Temple grounds, a kaldorei woman._  
_“Ishnu-alah. My name is Captain Seabreeze, the head guard assigned to Alliance Ambassador Trueblade. I had some inquires for you, if it isn’t too much trouble.”_

 _The trio had searched among each other, but glimpsed no opposition._  
_“Not one bit”, Thariss told her. “We in your way, Captain?”_

_“On the contrary, you might be stars in the sky for us. Had some questions about your status. I heard from a few of the denizens that you were blades-for-hire and in particular, your capacity intrigued me”, she revealed and nudged her head in Riv’s direction. “What’s your name?”_

_“Uh, Rivaryn. Rivaryn Silvershroud.”_

_“Miss Silvershroud, word goes that you’re well-versed in the skillset of a hunter?”_

_“If it does, then it’s an accurate word, whoever spoke it.”_

_Seabreeze nodded with a pleased glint in her eyes, folding her arms._  
_“We could use a good tracker, you see, if you’re interested.”_

_“Well, granted that you don’t have any disputes with procuring aid from a sin’dorei.”_

_“No, absolutely not. You’re a freelancer, right? Don’t worry, I can grasp the difference.”_

_The hint of a smile beckoned on Riv’s lips._  
_“Excellent. Then what can we do for you, Captain?”_

_“Let me preface this by telling you that I can’t provide elaborate details, no fine print. But in essence, we’re on the hunt for an Alliance squad which went missing in the Grizzly Hills, a region to the east of here.”_

_“Missing?”, asked Thariss. “How long ago we talkin’ here?”_

_“Contact was lost about a week ago from today, according to local reports of those situated in the Hills. Again, I cannot disclose the full and unquestionable nature of the mission they were on, but suffice it to say, it was of high priority.”_

_The mercenaries hesitated for a spell, scouring for the emotions which they apparently all shared._  
_“Uh, I see”, said Riv. “But if this task was so instrumental, shouldn’t the Alliance be searching for these absent troops itself?”_

 _“Well, that’s the hitch – it was key, but not indispensable. Those aren’t my words, for the record, but from higher in the command chain._  
_Myself and others fear that the team we’re on the lookout for was compromised by Drakkari trolls.”_

_“Drakkari?”_

_“This continent’s sole troll tribe. They’ve been around since the dawn of the species and preside over an empire to the northeast, called Zul’drak. Or maybe I should switch it out for ‘presided’ – from all available intel, they’re losing the bulk of their land to the Scourge. And that’s actually a consequence we fear more than the trolls, that the Scourge corralled our soldiers. If they’re all dead, this would be a substantial blow to our prospects of a smooth victory.”_

_“So what’s the delay? Just send a battalion and rescue those people”, urged Thariss._

_“Like I already mentioned, it’s not on the table. With the Nexus War in the west, the siege of the Wrathgate and our myriad of operations in the Howling Fjord, the Alliance expedition is worn thin. What we aren’t, however, is pressed for gold – hence, hiring mercs would be a viable and advantageous investment._  
_In one way or another, I need someone to at least find traces of our people, determine their conditions. Can you make this happen?”_

 _For the third and final time, the three ascertained the spirit circling their midst, though it was undue. With little else on their plates, and as Nadelgosa notified them that she wasn’t going anywhere, they could safely dictate their next route._  
_“You’ve got yourself some primo trackers on the payroll, Captain.”_

* * *

  
And with that, the team had retreated from the tiles of the Temple, out onto the chilly landscape beyond. The Captain offered them an approximate destination for where to concentrate their sweep, and it took them a week or two in order to journey all the way past the hurdles of the land. The Alliance had no flying mounts to spare in beneficial proximity, nor had the dragons, and so the team had to wind through a lot of precarious terrain. This entailed Scourge pits, Scarlet Crusade expeditions and ghostly figures of a bleak yore they had no wish to explore to any greater details.

For the three, this is a little bit of a reprieve from their previous arduous history with the northern reaches, as it contains the first tangible manifestations of forest that they’ve encountered. Specifically in the northern districts, the trees grow with sparse intervals and the snow finds it tricky to flush past the tall pine tree crowns, though not impassable.

From Riv’s point of view, this terrain is reminiscent of the excursions she took into distinct zones of dwarven lands back on the Eastern Kingdoms, though with a prevalence of the nominative hills.  
The last known location of the wayward soldiers was somewhere in the western portion of the province. Reportedly, they made a transient stop in Amberpine Lodge, one of the Alliance-controlled towns and then veered to the west.

As for the settlement, the mercenaries had no incentive to make a visit, even briefly, but instead parked their feet a few clicks to the west of it. This decision was picked on Riv’s recommendation, as she was confident she could scrounge up the tracks on her own.  
It is from this locale they set out on their own pursuit, scouring the undergrowth and soil for clues as to what could’ve possibly occurred to the poor souls. After all, no one simply poofs out of nowhere.

With the unsympathetic winds flailing in their vicinity, Thariss draws her coat and scarf closer, her body shuddering a bit at the latest.  
“Fuck me. Figured some greenery would make this place more bearable, but every venue here is like an ice cube.  
Babe, you really got a bead on a trail or is it just as cold as my ears right ‘bout now?”

Riv, who’s kneeling on the ground to dust some snow off her object of interest, smiles to herself.  
“I did caution you to bring extra padding.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always smarter and more resourceful. Don’t have to brag.”

On the other side of their row, Rax tilts her head somewhat, to wipe away some more of the white substance which had nestled on her horn.  
“It is curious how your people praise and thrive through the night, yet you despise the cold, Thariss.”

Thariss glances over her shoulder with a displeased look.  
“Think you got that a lil’ mixed up, Rax. ‘Night’ doesn’t necessarily equate ‘cold’, ‘least not on Kalimdor. And Northrend isn’t cold, it’s like freezing in the fucking grave. Even the Night Warrior wouldn’t take to this mess.”

“The Night…Warrior?”

“Long story.”  
While Rax is dutifully affixed to the road which Riv isolates for them, Thariss is steeped with doubt.  
“Babe, you a 100% this is worth the bother? To me, this passage we’re on just presents like a sheet of white cream and tons of prickly…uh, I dunno, pricks. Hearkens back to Winterspring, come to think of it. And I have mentioned how royally that shithole sucks, right?”

The hunter exhales at the mildly abrasive whining, though she doesn’t forfeit her position.  
“A couple of times, yes. Or more.”

“Good. You don’t genuinely trust we’ll actually solve this puzzle, do you? Cuz I get the vibe it’s a doomed cause and we should head back. We’ll get paid whether we chase ‘em down or not. So why go to the trouble, when we can get easy gold?”

Next to her, Rax gains an anxious expression, fiddling with her hammer which hangs behind.  
“This is an accurate statement”, she accedes, “but the Captain will presumably demand proof of our presence as a prerequisite.”

“Big deal. So I’ll grab a snowball and lob it in her face. Bam, job done, money snagged.”

“…now and again, your antics are a paradox to me. I cannot distinguish if this is a serious proposal or not.”  
With Thariss blatantly not being in an especially solemn or grounded mood, Rax instead directs the question which pulses in her mind at Riv.  
“But she raises a valid topic. Do you truly believe there is a potential for finding these Alliance fighters?”

Riv has her nose practically buried in the ground, mirroring Razz to an ostensible degree, as she corroborates.  
“Positive. All I require is time to scout and seal off the right prints. I know they’re here, Raxeen – trust me.”

“Very well, I shall put my faith in your qualified hands.”

One who is not as lenient is Thariss, rolling her eyes in a worn fashion.  
“Riv, gorgeous, I admire your persistence and all that, but personally, I’m also running outta energy here, not to mention freezing my ass off. It’s so frosty that I’m dead sure my body is turning into ice on the inside.”

With an unconvinced arched eyebrow, Riv shifts barely to peer at her wife-to-be.  
“That’s not biologically possible, dear. You’d have keeled over by now.”

“What, are you suddenly a grade-A scholar now too?”

“No, but my sister is a decent one.”

“…bah, whatever.”

Eventually, following a lengthy round of foraging, to her girlfriend’s surprise, Riv calls out her success.  
“Hah, there we go! That’s our lead.”

“You located a trace?”, asks Rax.

Riv is dusting at the ground, in an area where no snow has been dumped in a bigger span than in the previous stretches they traversed.  
“Yeah, got some prints of boots and what appears like…hooves? Definitely not a horse, based on the size, so chances are a draenei made the latter.”

“What makes you so certain it isn’t any old wanderer, though?”, Thariss probes dubiously.

“Due to the scant amount of activity in these parts. Unlike a city for example, there are very few elements that would’ve disrupted this type of residue. And you seldom spot crowds of this size in the wilderness, outside of military patrols. And hunters, I guess, but the Captain back at Wyrmrest already attested that they almost never permit civilians to wander about without supervision.”

The wavering doesn’t entirely dissipate on Thariss’ features, but with Riv and Rax both being invested, she begrudgingly settles in.  
“Hmm. I don’t love this, but guess we push on.”

Together, Riv and Razz continue to work meticulously, sussing out more facts and contents related to the case. Conjointly, they excavate a second piece of proof. The blood elf notes how her raptor companion has approached a collection of bushes, so she rises and zips across.  
“What’ve you found, boy? Another lead?”  
Grazing her fingers over his scales as she passes, the gleaming of an object planted into the earth draws her attention, right where Razz is sniffing. She kneels down and picks it up, inducing a smile. She showcases it for her friends.  
“A torn Alliance symbol. Still think we’re on a wild strider chase, dear?”

Thariss holds up her hands in defeat, united with a sigh.  
“Alright, no need to shove it in my face. You win.”

With the paladin popping over, Riv places it in her hand and Rax turns it around, to view the lion logo from multiple angles.  
“An authentic Alliance emblem, indeed.”

“Mhm”, Riv agrees. “I theorize it was ripped off to leave clues for any faction members that could’ve followed behind, like dropping breadcrumbs. It’s what I would do if I was captured.”

Thariss shakes her head as she joins them, playfully rubbing her lover’s chin.  
“Well I’ll be damned. Forgot how gifted you are at snooping, hot stuff.”

“Heh. I merely have sharp eyes. And, you know, decades of training and expertise as a ranger.”

A smirk festers on Thariss’ lips, as she slides her hands down to Riv’s sides to tickle her instead.  
“Blah blah, don’t get cocky now. I’ll wrestle ya and you’ll recall how that always ends.”

Riv laughs softly and backs off reflexively.  
“Maybe you should sing my praises more often and I won’t.”

The warrior grabs her, spins her around and lands a light spank on her behind, which sends her forward.  
“Get back to huntin’ our prey, ranger girl. I’ll reward you later.”

* * *

  
After another day or so of rummaging across the narrow path, Riv guides her team via some bushes, past an array of trees and over a hill, but then stops flat. She drops to one knee and lifts an arm as a signal. The duo follows suit, hurriedly enters her position and sits down.  
“Did you notice anything?”, whispers Rax.

“Yeah, heard a bunch of physical struggle ahead. We shouldn’t be too far off. Fall in behind me and keep it quiet.”

Banding together, they proceed in a more languid pace, though one that at least makes them tricky to differentiate from the rest of their environment.  
A couple of hundred meters ahead, behind a collection of marginally thinner trees, they see a tumultuous fight going down, where shouts and grunts are periodically emitted, both from toiling and agony. Glancing slightly to her left, off-road, Riv discerns what she presumes has to be ruins in visual range, potentially of Drakkari origin. Then again, she has little knowledge of the type of cultures which have constructed civilizations in this territory.

Giving it a couple of seconds to examine the full scene, Rax is the first to remark on the individuals embroiled.  
“There can be no doubt”, she says, maintaining the low volume. “They are Alliance.”

“Yeah, can’t be much else”, Thariss assents. “Draenei, gnome and human. Could be some kinda freelancers or…bandits, I suppose.”

“My people rarely entangle themselves in illicit activity of such nature.”

“I know, just giving us options. Hey, who’re the ones they’re fighting?”

Observing the events, it would seem they’re up against a pack of trolls with chiefly frosty blue hues.  
“Drakkari, I speculate”, says Riv. “Don’t see what else it can be. Those are not Darkspears.”  
Riv pulls out her rifle and raises it, to peer through the scope.  
“The weapons that both sides are wielding suggest a similar origin, though distinctly non-Alliance make. I can see feathers and a jagged wooden design of the hilts. I’d categorize them as akin to Amani craftsmanship. Confiscated, perhaps?”

“Or just pilfered.” Thariss squints, hoping to get a better view. “To me, it doesn’t seem like the Alliance folks are in armors.”

“They’re not”, Riv confirms. “Simpler gear, not prepped for combat.”

“Okay, why is that?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here trying to measure them from afar, love.”

By now, the night elf has unsheathed her shield and blade.  
“Fine, but I’m getting antsy here. What’s our next action?”

“There are no alternatives”, says Rax. “These people need help and we are honor-bound – as well as contract-bound – to rescue them. The Alliance are allies, and there is a draenei among them, one of my people. I shall stride down there and aid them, no matter the ramifications.”

With this assertion, it’s not as if Riv and Thariss have much choice. The former nods curtly and once more aims her weapon.  
“Okay, go. I’ll back you up from here. Razz, follow Thariss.”

The night elf grins in a somewhat vicious manner, her fangs virtually gleaming in the reflection of the sunlight.  
“Showtime.”

With the word given, the three melee-oriented combatants rush ahead, as Riv waits behind next to the nightsabers, who have both prowled down. Calmly and methodically, she lines up shots against her foes. At the opportune moment, she fires away, blasting at least one of the trolls that was zeroing in on the gnome, another ranger who is unfortunately forced to utilize a bow. The human is explicitly a spellcaster judging by all the magic he flings left and right, but the draenei is more conflicting to pinpoint, as the axes she employ should signify her role as a warrior, yet there is something disparate about her.

Thariss and Rax propel themselves into the clash, with the warrior taking a prominent and frontal role, being both heavier and sturdier than her comrades. As two Drakkari warriors near the human, they’re impeded by a charging Thariss, who bashes her shield into the nose of the first and then spins around to kick the other away. Rax, as should’ve been foreseen, uses her connection to the Light in order to launch a judgment spell and liberate the draenei.

At a closer look, they can both distinguish that she is no warrior, for at the second draenei’s command, her attacks expand far above what is physically plausible. Her slashes become doubled or tripled, tearing over her enemies by way of ripping and carving relentless winds. Rax might not be intimately accustomed to the practice, but she knows a shaman when she sees on. They are still not an abundantly numerous one among her kind, though they’ve swiftly propagated their count.

The fight itself isn’t too extensive. With now relatively equal numbers and Riv’s long-range support, the result comes down to a match of skill, strength and shrewdness – in the end, the trolls cannot rival what they’re opposed with, nor do they surrender. Blood is the only way to resolve the dissension.  
After their assailants are all eliminated, the mercs turn and face the winded survivors. To Thariss and Rax, these units strike the two as runaways, prisoners perhaps.

They ascertain an even greater unprecedented trait from the shaman, which renders Rax confused and her eyes widened.  
“Aruunel?”

The light blue-skinned draenei gazes up from her spot, bending over and still panting. Her face is bloodied and bruised.  
“Rax? By the elements, you-…what in Velen’s name is going on?”


	34. Section Three (part 2)

Out of all the people they could’ve possibly bumped into, Aruunel was not high on the list. At best, Raxeen had presumed that her old flame would limit herself to the two center continents, chiefly to protect Exodar or if pushed, unleash herself in avenging fury on the Horde. This would of course fuel the rivalry and bloodshed, expand the cycle of reprisals, but at large, damage would be minimal, personal. Yet instead, she finds the shaman in the thick of a fatal mission for the Alliance, hunted by Drakkari trolls? What could’ve driven her to such precarious boldness?

After double checking the area for potential additional Drakkari pursuers, Rivaryn guided the team and their new Alliance tagalongs into a small clearing, with pine trees as shielding to intercept line of sight.  
Out of an intersection of compassion and necessity, the mercenaries share waterskins with the runaways, as well as some dried meat, with promises of a warmer supper later down the line, as it gets cooked. With Razz, Ilca and Rax’s ride guarding the periphery, the rest of the group settles down, first and foremost to have a chat and gauge the status of the former prisoners.

The human among them especially stuffs his face, utterly decompressed and set at ease for having better food to munch on.  
“Ahh, this is amazing”, he utters, still with a piece of jerky lodged in his mouth. “Never thought I’d miss dried beef, but that troll food was Lights-damned awful.”

“Picked it up in an Alliance inn back in Dragonblight, but we’ve got some fresh venison that Riv here hunted for us too”, Thariss tell them.

In the meantime, Aruu and the gnome proceed with more…discretion.  
The merc trio has done their best to apply bandages and wrap warm extra clothes plus blankets around their rescues, but it evidently doesn’t satisfy every need.  
Rax tends to get a little too worried, even now, using a moist handkerchief to attempt and wipe some splattered blood from Aruu’s cheek. Unfortunately, it is not a pervasive affair, for the shaman soon flinches.

“Stop it, Rax. I can do it myself.”

“But-“

“Please, break it off. Give me some space.”

Rax parts her lips, grows tense and then woefully acquiesces.  
“Very well.”

While Aruu concentrates on fixing the rest of the spill, dirt and flecks, the elves wise up, knowing they have to act and allay the awkward tone.  
“So uh, this wasn’t at all what we believed we were in for, but we’re obviously relieved to have come at the last minute", says Riv.

“As are we!”, the gnome effusively agrees. “Most immaculate timing of you.”

“We try our best”, remarks Thariss.

“My name is Rivaryn. This is Thariss and Raxeen. We’re acquainted with Aruunel here, but never met either of you two. At least, I think not…?”

She glances at Rax for verification and the paladin inclines her head.  
“Indeed, they are strangers to me as well.”

The gnome is a noticeably sprightlier figure than the other two, her voice tone possessing a touch higher pitch. Her skin is a medium brown, while she has green hair in a ponytail.  
“The name’s Bekkit! Bekkit Rizzlemeld. And if I might be honest, your rescue operation was stupendously executed! Multitudinous thanks to you.”

“It’s no problem whatsoever”, Riv assures. “If we can aid people in a pinch, we’re glad.”

“The pay helps, though”, reveals Thariss.

Bekkit’s gaze is soon enthused as she scours Riv’s position.  
“Your weapon of choice and composition, it is tremendously intriguing. May I take a closer look?”

The blood elf currently has her rifle resting against her side, and she blinks with a measure of puzzlement, prior to unsheathing it.  
“Oh, uh, sure. Just be careful.”

“Hah, no need for trepidation, for I have plenty of history dabbling with these types of weaponry. Let’s give it a looksee…”, she says, as she gets underway with her examination.  
“Hmm. Is this a multi-bypass injection cog? How unorthodox…but quite ingenious, all things considered.”

With the gnome muttering away, the pale-skinned human with black shoulder-length hair clears his throat.  
“Well, see no reason not to carry on with introductions. I’m Samuels, a member of Stormwind’s mage order. And I echo my companion’s sentiments. It was absolutely dreadful in that camp. I…I was utterly convinced they’d eat me alive.”

Aruu rolls her eyes at his superstition.  
“You’re an idiot, Samuels.”

The look on his face turns devastated.  
“What?! You didn’t see the eyes they sent me! They were practically salivating more for every day!”

“They do not eat other sentient beings.”

“Oh, you say that now, but we have no idea where the rest of the prisoners were sent! I tell you, it was dinner, sacrifice or…worse.”

The shaman covers her face with a hand, more than a little disgruntled by his mewling.  
Once the Alliance trio enters a more susceptible state of mind, with food in their bellies and their throats quenched, Thariss rededicates on the matter.  
“Right, now that this is outta the way, we’d be mighty appreciative if you gave us some answers.”

“Of course”, speaks Aruu, grateful but remaining suspicious, which her voice clues out. “We’re two on this.”

Riv is better accommodating and offers a shade of the truth.  
“I understand you’re reasonably wary on account of what you’ve underwent at the hands of your captors, but you need not fear us – we were hired by Alliance representatives at Wyrmrest, a Captain Seabreeze. She told us there wasn’t enough manpower close to hand for them to send a bunch of extra scouts, without the requisite trail.  
The objective we were compensated for was to locate a missing squad – yours, I take it – and then bring you back into the arms of the Alliance, essentially.”

With the story having run its course, Aruu still wears signatures of displeasure.  
“This is unacceptable.”

The opposite trio is bewildered by the dismissal.  
“…pardon?”, asks Thariss.

Samuels rapidly intercepts and coughs too loudly to be real.  
“What the good Lieutenant means is uh…we extend our gratitude without hesitation! Without your intervention on our behalf, we would likely have been recaptured – or slaughtered – and spent the rest of our diminutive lives in those cages and I’d prefer to dissolve such horrendous thoughts.”

The shaman does not appear to revel in the fact that she was so brazenly interrupted, judging by the searing glare she sets on the human.  
“But it is not enough”, she accentuates slowly and sharply.

“Lieutenant…”

“Silence, _Specialist_ ”, she spits. The rest of the camp grows eerily quiet after this outburst, as no one dares challenge her wrath. For now, she bottles this up and circles back to the merc team.  
“We are thankful for what you did, hands down, but we were fulfilling a critical assignment for the Alliance war effort against the Scourge. The integrity of it was endangered as we were taken into Drakkari custody. It has to be carried out.”

“How did you get free?”, wonders Riv.

Aruu fidgets a bit with the piece of cloth granted to her, eyes steered downwards.  
“It was a joint venture, really. We sat in there for days, definitely more than a week. A few others had met the same fate, and some were taken away by the trolls; in all likelihood interrogated and killed.  
There were, at the very least, four other survivors from our squad, once Samuels and I managed to collapse the magic suppression bonds that the Drakkari had fashioned.”

“You shattered them? How?”

She zones out for a few seconds, gaze unfocused and drifting. Then, she shrugs halfheartedly.  
“I beseeched the elements, told them to assist us. They obliged. As Samuels teleported us out and past the threshold, we hastily developed a new plan, to split in order to be harder to track.”

With a malleable gap, Samuels vocalizes his own opinion.  
“From where I’m sitting, we only have one alternative now – we should withdraw to a safer foothold, try to recover the rest of the squad and report back to Alliance Command.”

As the two float towards contrasting ends of the spectrum, Bekkit coughs awkwardly.  
“Well…I’m sort of in the same boat as Samuels, Lieutenant; though, I concur it’s unfortunate we never extracted anything constructive from this leg of our operations. But there’s always next time!”

Aruu’s next exhale is somewhat exasperated.  
“No. Do neither of you get it? Leaving now would be misconceived, as we’re so close to our goal.”

“Misconceived?”, Samuels repeats with a level of disbelief. “Aruunel, Captain Delron is dead and our gear was impounded by the trolls. How the hell do you reckon we go from here?”

In this one street, the shaman has to relent and reassess her values. With few other items on the menu, she turns to the mercs.  
“Is there any way we can solicit you for assistance?”

Thariss spreads her arms with marked skepticism.  
“Well, maybe, but we don’t even know what it is you guys are after. No one’s told us jack shit.”

This proves to be a claim which places all three of the soldiers in a state of ambivalence.  
“Lieutenant”, emits Bekkit. “Would it truly be wise to incorporate outside elements into this complication? Could just make everything ten times worse.”

“I don’t see how we have any choice”, admits Aruu.

“We could follow my plan…”, mutters the human. “You know, would save us a lot of grief from our superiors.”

“Are you that blind, Samuels? The General is exactly the type of person who would press us to obtain our objectives at all costs – even if that implies moderately bending the rules.”

He retreats and lifts his arms in surrender.  
“Alright, suit yourself! I’m not taking the fall for this one. It’s all on you.”

She shakes her head in contempt.  
“With the Captain no longer among us, the burden was already on my shoulders, fool.”

While the faction-aligned bicker, the neutral party is in a pondering lockdown.  
“This may or may not be a fact”, alleges Rax, “but for us, the contention in question is instead what more precisely is unfolding here. We are out of our elements in this matter, I would surmise. What part of the Alliance do you report to and what is this objective?”

On the heels of some dilly-dallying, Samuels and Bekkit motions at Aruu, to demonstrate that they’ll stay out of her way.  
“Normally, we are loath to speak this out loud, but we can grant you fragments of insight, to part the haze, as it were.  
When last we met, I wasn’t perfectly truthful with you. By that point, I had already entered into the morass of the Alliance’s…more secretive activities, which is more than being a simple soldier or ground pounder. For the last year or so, I’ve been a member of a special forces subdivision of the Ninth Legion, designated ‘Section Three’. We are less…conspicuous than our comrades in the Seventh Legion.”

All three of the other women are bemused by the title, but the soldiers give off no prompts of a joke.  
“Section Three? There’s a one and two?”, Thariss inquiries.

“I can’t descend any deeper into its formation, for its sensitive nature. Just know that what we do helps safeguard the cohesion of the Alliance.” She halts momentarily, to inhale and ready herself. “In truth, divulging any single portion of the intel we possess is probably a criminal offense to some degree, due to the clearance one must earn and the clandestine dimensions of our organization, but right now, that’s quite moot. Our mission is borderline unsalvageable, with much of our squad dead, including our leader. We escaped by the skin of our teeth and triumph from here is inconceivable. We need support.”

“I’m not disputing you, Lieutenant”, starts Samuels. “But in my mind, this is plainly why heading back to HQ and updating them on our progress is the right call, not putting more nails in the coffin.”

“If we cut bait, nothing will come of this. You may do as you wish, Specialist, but I’ll track down what we came for.”

“And uh, what was this target of yours?”, Thariss prods.

“Our original purpose in this region was to trace and acquire an ancient artifact from an era long gone, when the downed World Tree here was first erected.”

The night elf contemplates it for a second or two.  
“You mean Vordrassil?”

“Ah, yes, that was the name. You know it?”

“Yeah, my mother told us the tale in my younger years, in between cursing Staghelm. Never was a big fan of the guy.”

Aruu sighs and scratches her nose.  
“The full explanation is exhaustive and frankly, kind of dull, so I’ll make this short.”

They hear Samuels huffing.  
“Agree to disagree.”

It would seem these two are constantly at odds. One might cogitate on why they were implemented in the same circle to begin with. All the same, Thariss smirks.  
“Hey, Aruunel’s got a point and we’re commenting on my people here.”

The mage is unimpressed with her conclusion.  
“It would merely indicate you have an insipid appreciation for historical details.”

“Whatever. Nerd.”

Riv lays a hand on her beloved’s arm, clutching it softly.  
“Thariss…”

“Basically”, Aruu continues, “Fandral Staghelm – one of the Archdruids of the kaldorei – planted branches over some saronite in this specific province millennia ago, in order to nurture a brand-new World Tree. The idea was auspicious, but the output left much to be desired. It failed as a result of being corrupted by Yogg-Saron’s cage, one of the Old Gods imprisoned here, as the saronite energy seeped into the roots. The kaldorei saw no other recourse than to cut it down, but the area was never conclusively cleansed.  
However, the original hollow, the hole where the branches were buried and the source of the construction, should still have contained the item deployed which allowed the tree to fertilize and mature – the druids called it a ‘Splinter of Malorne’. Though it has since been rendered warped by Old Gods influence and magic, a druid reached out to Alliance High Command and swore that she and some of her brethren could purge the tainted essence. It would be a formidable weapon against the Scourge. All they required was someone to extract the Splinter.”

Now with the warrior having divorced her glibness, her fingers are interlocked with those of Riv, mesmerizingly watching Aruu and digesting the narrative in her mind.  
“That’s…a lot more comprehensive than mother communicated. So, enter Section Three?”

“Yes, our squad was selected for the job, a group of fourteen troops. We originally embarked on a voyage to the World Tree, falsely assuming it would hold what we were chasing, but made a shocking discovery upon arrival – it was gone.”

“Gone? Destroyed?”

“Incorrect”, replies Bekkit. “Another faction had beat us to it.”

Aruu nods briefly.  
“Indeed. We rummaged through the furbolg camps in the area, but came up empty. Afterwards, we naturally suspected the Scourge, for who else would be so keen on thwarting our success?  
Sadly, our consequent calculations were wrong, and it wasn’t until numerous days later that we uncovered evidence which steered us towards the west instead, near a subset of troll ruins.”

As this rings in her ears, Riv’s twitches light and mental images spawn.  
“Hmm. Believe I spotted some of those where we picked you up. Or in the same sector, anyway.”

“True, those clusters are close to our destination. Regrettably, we faced two issues – 1) Having departed furbolg territory, we were continuously followed by…some manner of beast that we couldn’t identify, but were able to sense in the air. Or them, as it was resoundingly more than one. 2) A contingent of Drakkari had already set up camp in the whereabouts and as we showed up, they ambushed us immediately. Were in the middle of performing surveys at the time. Most survived and were taken prisoner. Now there’s only half of us left.”

“Said your Captain died?”, probes Thariss. “How’d you know?”

The question, while simple, spurs a scowl on Aruu, Samuels to swallow in dismay and Bekkit to scratch her cheek.  
“Because…we saw his body”, reveals the latter. “After the...interrogations.”

“They dumped him among the rest of the uh…fallen captives”, says Samuels.

“Rhavjaka”, curses Aruu at the memory, but neither she nor Rax reveals the translation. “Anyhow, I’m no healer, but it was visible enough that he had been tortured.  
But regardless of our current state of affairs, it would be a critical boon for the Alliance to gain the Splinter. Join us, once we’ve revitalized a bit.”

Her plea is genuine and respectable, but on the whole, it creates worry in Rax.  
“Aruu, this may not be wise. If what you say is accurate, you have been captives for days, starved and dehydrated. The best to do now would be to escort you to the nearest town and-“

“Your pity or concern is irrelevant”, Aruu interrupts strictly. She switches to stare at her old companion. “I can handle myself, Rax. I’ve got no shortage of experience.”  
The paladin can sustain a connection between them for only a fleeting period, until she averts her eyes. Aruu then looks at the elves.  
“We managed to salvage some gear from the trolls we slayed. Should be adequate physical protection.”

“Oh, please. End this swaggering act, Lieutenant”, complains Samuels. “It’s nuts! We didn’t pull it off with a dozen troops, but you expect to do the trick at half strength?”

“Believe what you will, but it’s not impossible. In the next phase, we’re now clued in on the troll’s positions and tactics, as well as what we’re chasing. We can prevail, if we tread carefully. In fact, a smaller team would be less likely to get detected.”

Samuels, still trapped in a mire of doubt and self-preservation, distraughtly shakes his head.  
“Seriously, do you know the odds of this? It’s an extremely long shot.”

“I’m well aware.” That’s when she rewinds to Rax and her companions. “We can’t do this without your support. Please, stand with us. I will guarantee you’re paid double what the Captain promised, by the Ninth Legion.”

Rax is in a severe torrent of trepidation, not knowing which way to swing and Riv scours her friends for reactions. Thariss is the sole person ready to respond, her ears twitching in fascination.  
“Double, huh? That’ll make for a nice pile o’ gold…”

Preceding their decision, Samuels says his piece.  
“Alright, I’m done. You wanna pursue this irrational gamble?” He discards it with a wave. “Be my guest. But I’m getting out and heading straight for Amberpine. Someone has to report back to the Alliance to fill them in on your failure and I’ll be happy to play the part. I’d teleport out, but at this distance, the decay surrounding the leylines would be too hazardous.”

Aruu doesn’t seem particularly discouraged by his disentanglement.  
“Fine, whatever you say. We shall survive without you.”

“I have sincere qualms about the veracity of such lofty claims…”

The two may have reached a compromise, but Bekkit is much less convinced.  
“This is unwise, both of you. We should stick together.”

“Quite the contrary, this might prove to be a sensible division” posits Aruu. “It behooves us to enact some kind of fail-safe, in case the second endeavor falls by the wayside.”

“Well, would you look at that”, states Samuels in a mildly derisive tune. “We’re in line on something. All that’s left is for me to wish you luck, I suppose, for when you commence. At least make an attempt to survive, however poor the prospect is.”

“We’ll do better than that, by prevailing. However, the fate of this mission hangs in the balance, for we rely on the three of you to accept”, she tells the mercs. “I will not disguise it either – once we’ve cemented our arrangement, there’s no forfeiting. Consider everything with prudence.”

“I’m up for the challenge, all the way”, Thariss divulges. “Not cuz I wanna wave the blue flag or anything, but tilting the scales on the Scourge sounds pretty sweet.”

Riv is at a more cautious stage, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.  
“I want more details. What exactly does this entail? Where would we go and who are we fighting?”

At this time, Aruu has begun using the cloth she received to wipe her axes clean.  
“By the intel we’ve accessed, I can’t be completely sure, but it’s leaning towards the Twilight Hammer.”

Thariss grimaces.  
“Oh, great. Always wanted to have a second round with those tentacle-loving fucks.”

Riv arches her brow questioningly.  
“You know of them?”

“Yeah. Before our time, babe. They’re Old Gods worshippers.”

“The site we’re bound for”, Aruu resumes, “is in the subterranean levels of the ruins to the west, where they’re cooped up. The entrance has been blocked, but I have solutions to breach it. I can’t furnish you with a systematic strategy for how we shall deal with them yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

With the situation delineated and the mission on the table, the mercs have to choose whether to accept or reject. By now, they have all pieces of the puzzle as they’re likely to attain.  
“It does sound exceedingly risky”, Riv admits, “and a little skewed for an official Alliance operation…”

“But we’ll take the bargain”, Thariss affirms. “We’re in.”

Bekkit and Aruu both seem relieved, and Riv retrieves her weapon once more, securing it over her shoulder.  
“We’ll help you surmount the cultists, but I consult you to take it slow and warily. Let’s not rush into anything.”


	35. Spill the soiled light

It’s the little things she misses the most, the unnoticed, the unremarked essentials. Stuff that would be a blur in everyday duties, but that now have grown into hollows in her soul, compartments she never knew were empty. The flavor of Southsun marmalade, the clanging of the blacksmith’s hammer, flirting with the shy fruit vendor in the morning, the scent of a particular hunter’s aroma following a long and sensual night…  
Ashindra still remember them, but merely in fits and starts. They are somewhat overshadowed, by greyer skies of reality and of a shameful truth.

Once Rivaryn and Ash unfastened at Wyrmrest Temple, they were bound to go their separate ways, given their differing allegiances and priorities, which neither felt was wrong or inauspicious. They’ll see each other again someday.  
As it were, they were not destined to schism as distantly as one could’ve visualized, for while Riv voyaged into the Grizzly Hills, Ash ended up only just past the border to the north, in Zul’Drak.

The Argent Crusade squads that had been stationed at the Temple were relocated to this province and their goal is twofold – 1) investigate Scourge activity and evaluate their formidability, risk assessment, spread and if any countermeasures can be distributed. If so, hit them where it hurts.  
2) Decipher the circulating rumors and indications that the Ebon Knights are conducting missions in the zone. If at all possible, establish contact and grill them for their ambitions and commitments in Zul’Drak. If help can be lent for key strikes, they have the all-clear to take the initiative.

As the sun rises on the stiff horizon of the glacier-like continent, thawing the dozed off living only to a minimum, Ash is cognizant of that Melia stirs and rises. Couple of minutes later, she rounds up her squad.  
After Commander Tailbirch debriefed them back in the Temple, they were allocated two more squads, as well as a new leader – Captain Briggton. A human born in Elwynn, he’s dour, introspective and firm, though not the bellowing type.

As per the bulk of days spent here in the last several weeks, Ash has been active during the final sentry shift of the darkened hours, the late morning streak, which puts her as responsible for arranging the breakfast setting, or at least those with the aptitude.  
Once the Sergeant gets her immediate superior a refreshing meal and a cup of tea, the two go for a stroll, partially to heat the remainder of Melia’s body. It’s awfully cold to awaken here and a little exercise is a welcoming conduit for it, especially given the company.

“So, Briggton been an obstacle in any way to you?”, the Lieutenant inquiries.

Ash, already having energized herself, sticks a hand to the hilt of her sword and floats her gaze out over the scenery, as monotonous and dreary as it is.  
“Not so far. Although, I have to note that he’s an uncharacteristic choice as a commanding officer, at least by the common Crusade archetype.”

Melia surveys her second inquisitively.  
“How do you figure?”

“He’s diligent, I’ll hand him that, but he’s not of the charismatic ilk, nor does he carry an overdose of zeal.”

“Heh, well, I could argue that’s not a criteria.”

Ash briefly holds up her hand.  
“I know this, but it’s a plus and by all demonstrations, sort of a Crusade staple. He’s an outlier.”

“Hmm. Well, he is our ranking officer, so for the time being, we’ll have to contend with him and his mannerisms, whatever shows up.”

“And I’m prepared to, Lieutenant. Merely wished to pass along my opinion, to maintain honesty with you.”

A lucky break, for Ash is soon audience to a dazzling smile from Melia, as the Lieutenant perches a hand on her shoulder.  
“And I appreciate your candor, as always.”

A freezing breeze flaps around them, sending them into shuddering fits and by sheer subconscious reaction, the scope between them dwindles. They continue their promenade, gaining an increased gap to the encampment. In this stroke of seclusion, Ash’s heart supersedes her better judgment.  
“Don’t want to get bogged down in fault-finding and grousing this morning, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to…confide.”

Melia’s eyes flip with zest, though she preserves a veil of cool.  
“Yeah, sure. I’m here for you, Ash.”

Ash catches a hefty breath, a reflexive act, to precipitate her subsequent baring of facts.  
“Still haven’t fully processed our encounter with Rivaryn”, she outs, practically no louder than the wind.

The human’s look is kind, compassionate. Too good of a soul for Ash.  
“You have any regrets in relation to it?”

“No, not…regrets. Instead, I can’t help but dwell on whether I generated the impact on Riv that I pined for.” She stalls for a few seconds, rubbing her hand delicately above her neck as she mulls her next step over.  
“There’s an angle you should be made aware of about me - I’m never quick to…fess up to my mistakes. It’s erm…” She coughs politely. “…a character flaw. But the last confrontation with Rivaryn rattled me to a profound degree, made me acknowledge the lane I was conforming to had been a huge personal fallacy. I…hope my headway on this shortcoming was the impression Riv accrued. She has earned that much…and more.”

Hadn’t been the intended consequence, but a crack of unrest settles in Melia, as she grips Ash’s forearm.  
“Hey, don’t let it hang over you. If you do, no doubt it’ll molder until you begin to rot. Better to off-load it now, save yourself the trouble and move on.  
I chatted with your old friend, you know. She nursed no grudge.”

Ash reflects on it, letting the lens twist and squirm via her interior. Maybe there is something she can do to deflate its effect.  
“Lieu-…Melia, may I pose a personal question for you? It might seem a little offhand, possibly breaching some boundaries, but…”

Melia aligns at her expectantly, more engrossed now than previously.  
“I’ve shared more with you than almost anyone in the Crusade, so ask ahead.”

“It’s regarding your father.”

The Lieutenant noticeably hardens, her lips pursing, brows sinking. She swallows, but abides.  
“Well uh…yeah, okay.”

“If the opportunity ever arose, at any point, would you take it in order to find and meet your father? A chance to turn over a new leaf, a reset in your lives.”

Ironically, while Melia counseled Ash to forego her burdens, she’s apparently not at the stage to subscribe to her own words, for she displays blatant signals of indecision.  
“Ultimately…no, I probably wouldn’t.”

“You…wouldn’t prefer to forgive him? Not even if he wants to make reparations?”

The human’s focus goes astray, despite not detaching herself.  
”He made his values crystal clear, and those were him over me and mom. He left, so whatever his concerns are now, they don’t matter. I’m past him and any trite apologies. Which won’t come, by the way. Wager he reckons we died in the culling.”

Stark and strident, but not necessarily unjustified. Ash’s parents didn’t forsake her and even in the Vestarial dilemma, it was a good deal more levelled. But it doesn’t prevent the guilt from commencing its gnashing in the back of her head, and from her to start fidgeting, as she teeters on how to advance away from this tricky spot.

With nothing springing from Ash’s lips, Melia feels it warrants a shove.  
“Why’re you highlighting this anyway? Does my father’s absence…bother you?”

Ash lifts her hand, scratching behind her neck with an anxious crease on her eyebrows.  
“In a sense, but not the plain one.  
Do you recall when we spoke of…atonement?”

“Oh, yeah, think I do. Was a lil’ outta the blue.”

“Well, I broached it because I’ve been party to and at fault for certain…ethical violations.”

Melia perplexedly raises a brow.  
“Violations?”

“As a…Blood Knight.”

“I don’t quite follow. You committed crimes?”

By this moment, they’ve cut their stride short and reside on a specific slot, at a range from the camp. Ash is in a fluxed shape, swinging whether to proceed or not. She did sound off on A, why hold back on B?  
“Not…me as an individual, but the Order itself.”

“Hold on. You’re saying the blood elven paladins are responsible for something big? Of what variety?”

Ash breathes out through her nose, clenching her sword a bit fiercer.  
“The type which makes you debate if you’re yet entitled to the Light’s grace.” The draft in the air is getting more incessant and Ash has to brush her hair out of her face.  
“How much have you heard of the Blood Knights?”

“Uh…well, probably fair to claim that my expertise in that field is finite. I’m aware their your people’s paladin guild, which rolled in after the Sunwell was vandalized and your capital city sacked. That about wraps it up.”

“But you had no idea of its framework?”

“I would have no way of knowing. Haven’t received the option to visit since years prior to the…decimation and I got a hunch they wouldn’t drop me an invite nowadays.”

Ash affords a delayed inclination of her head.  
“Slim chances of that, yes.  
Even if it’s true that my former associates now tap the Light and arcane fused energies of the Sunwell to execute their powers – as do I – it wasn’t always so. Our dawn was…less virtuous.  
In the wake of the Scourge’s incursion, and such a ravaging devastation, the quel’dorei – now sin’dorei – were not just demoralized. We were resentful.”

“Of…humans?”

For a spell, Ash suspends her mental speed and funnels a nonplussed perception of her superior, before recovering shortly thereafter.  
“What? No, that was not-…okay, that did come to pass, but not right away. We had a more…metaphysical scapegoat.  
Not only had many of us been believers in the Holy Light, but most stayed true to its ideology and principles, right up till the juncture where everything crashed and burned. The reality of our tragedy could not be misinterpreted – the Light had failed to protect us, left us dispossessed and destitute, with an excruciating hunger for magic that could hardly be sated. As the trend to feed from arcane sources in living entities and siphoned crystals mounted, the budding paladin Order proposed that we copy and repurpose this method.”

Suddenly, it strikes Melia in by far more intense fashion.  
“Wait, you’re telling me they…drained the Light from people?”

“Not from all people, but organisms that embody the Light itself.”

The Lieutenant widens her eyes, genuinely staggered. It would appear she never had the foggiest.  
“…the naaru.”

“Indeed.”  
Ash averts her gaze in shame.  
“Servants of Prince Kael’thas abducted one designated ‘M’uru’ at the assault on Tempest Keep, and later transferred the entity to Silvermoon to sap power from. In lieu of it, an innovative Magister premised that we manipulate the Light potency for our own gain – paladins without compliance to faith.”

It’s no wonder that Melia can’t hide the truth of how appalled she is by the notion.  
“Were you…culpable of the same act?”

“I was – and rather cheerful to boot. My disillusionment was equally aggressive as a by-product of the fall. I…lost my parents, a fair share of friends and loved ones, fellow priests.” She chugs down a lump in her throat, the simmering emotions beneath the surface. Her tone is a bit shaky. “During our flight, I witnessed some of the…atrocities and was unable to prevent any of it. Children, innocents, elderly…all of them torn asunder as if their lives were nothing more than fodder for the undead. Too numerous to count.  
The whole ordeal was so bleak, so harrowing, as if the end of the world had been ushered. I just…broke.”

All of these horrors notwithstanding, Melia doesn’t verbalize her thoughts, but she can’t deny that idea sends chills up her spine. It’s ghastly to imagine someone leeching the Light’s energy straight from the body of another living being. It is inimical to the very teachings of the Light, what code Melia was raised upon.  
As opposed to laying into a traumatized woman, however, she elaborates on the uncontested.

“You’re obviously different now, Ash. What made you pivot on your standpoint? The Sunwell?”

The paladin looks downwards now, kicking at a couple of rocks on the solidified ground, still a flush of ill conscience roaming her.  
“It’s part of it, yeah”, she confesses. “But I’m also indebted to Rivaryn. She unshut my eyes.  
We ran into each other at the Black Temple on Outland and she went head to head with me on…an unrelated matter. The essence of it, in the long run, is that she was correct and elicited a wake-up call in me.”  
Revealing this, at such a phase, not just Ash’s shoulders, but her ears slump in defeat.  
“It hit me how despicable, how inextricably dishonorable – in the most literal sense of the word – our perpetrations were. It was…anathema to what I’d been taught at the church. Worse, it was pure, undiluted cowardice. What I and the remainder of the Order perpetuated was no better than the injustices of the Scarlet Crusade.”

This has affected the paladin in a far more powerful capacity than Melia could’ve foreseen. She attempts to grip Ash’s hand, soothe her.  
“Ash, you shouldn’t beat yourself up like that.”

But such consolation is substandard in these waters. Instead, Ash frowns, digs in deeper.  
“I’m serious. Who else in this world is so adamant to warp their moral compass? I can’t take the high ground in this case, for it was…beyond the pale.”

“Your people were desperate. You were at the brink of extinction.”

“And that excuses scrapping every shred of our ideals? What is even the point of surviving, if we end up as monsters regardless?”  
She plants a hand on her forehead, pressing into it in an endeavor to calm down, images of remote events blistering through her mind. In the meantime, Melia affectionately and abatingly kneads her arm.  
“I…I’m sorry. I’ve…kept this pent up for a time now, that it kind of just…swelled. Those were not some of my finest years.”

“I hear you and I understand it, more than you might assume. But in the grand scheme of things, Ash, this doesn’t seal off redemption. Everyone deserves a second chance; you and your people more than most.”

Offsetting the guilt in earnest now, Ash’s whole frame droops, slackens. Her green shift and regroups with Melia’s greys.  
“Even your father?”

“Heh. Let’s…deal with one person’s baggage at a time, shall we?”

“Perhaps you’re right.”  
Consequently, she detects Melia’s fingers around hers and innately, their eyes convene, searching the soul of their companion. Ash is on the doorstep of exposing her other shame – the indefinitely more monumental one – but veers at the last second. She clears her throat.  
“Thanks. Erm, for the vote of confidence and encouragement.”

Melia smiles and rests her cheek on Ash’s arm.  
“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No Vestarial debate yet. Saving it for last_


	36. Section Three (part 3)

Nary a soul is standing witness as the Section Three duo and their mercenary trio appendix prowl out from the relative comfort of their glade shelter, now with one count lower, as Samuels has departed their company and drawn himself back into the awaiting arms of Alliance dominion.  
To tip the scales marginally in their favor, the team opted to aim for a night time assault, seeming like the most opportune segment of the day for this form of operation.

For the majority of the party, it is a challenge of stepping stones and managing one’s speed, as to stay as muted as is feasible. Three of them try their best to watch and reproduce Rivaryn’s slick slides. As a skilled and experienced ranger, for Riv it is not so much a steep measure as it is to mentally rewire herself into her old rut back as a Farstrider. Once she does, the rest comes naturally.  
Another who excels primarily without assistance is Thariss. Below the night’s darkened belly, her race’s natural abilities are close at hand and if she sticks to a patient speed, she can practically disappear into the shadows.

Weather conditions are not uncomplicated to predict up here, what with discordant magical influences flipping the answer on an irregular reliability, but as luck would have it, the sky is cloudy this night. It is in instances like these that Aruunel wishes the Grizzly Hills were more densely populated by trees, though. However quantitative and tall they are, the atmosphere is still rife with bare stretches.

Fortunately, the ruins they’re surveilling for entry are not the primary epicenter for Drakkari supervision. In the dim veil of the late hours, the trolls have no more than a few patrols on sentry duty, as the burrowing and excavating is put on hold. Even so, their guard schedule is not ironclad, which opens up for mishaps and bungling. Devious stealth-savvy souls can more than likely tiptoe their way past the system.

The merc trio previously possessed a sketchy knowledge of their destination, besides its discernible ties to ice troll history. The decorated patterns on the stone, the ornaments, the jagged symmetry of the braziers – much of it jogs Riv’s memory, of Amani motif and handiwork, yet with its own spin.  
“So, this is Drakkari craftsmanship.”

“Indeed”, responds Aruu. “Our regional intel categorized these ruins as Drak’Zin. The application for them, what assets they bestow or the capacity they serve nowadays for the Drakkari is thus far unidentified, but neither does it carry much bearing on our task.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got maps on the interior?”, asks Thariss.

Regrettably, the shaman shakes her head.  
“Our squad would have been the first Alliance presence in there, possibly the first non-Drakkari in many a decade. The trolls could cover such ground, but as you know, we weren’t in a position to salvage anything from them.”

To break inside, they have to enact care, a slithering pace and patience. The Drakkari might not cram the area with troops, but it’s not fecklessly maintained.  
No one in the team can boast being an expert at furtive methods, but keeping one’s distance and taking it slow can do wonders for worming one’s way into illicit breaches; expressly so with a thick layer of darkness and faded illumination.

Despite the nature of their espoused mission and the sorely pressed deadline, Raxeen discreetly treads over to Aruu’s side while they standby for the guard to do his round, swapping to their mother tongue.  
”I cannot predict what will transpire here, or how long you elect to stay with us, so I should pose the question now before it runs its course – how did you get tangled in this…web of secrecy? In our days together, you were far more…overt.”

Aruu muzzles her groan as she stares daggers at the paladin from her peripheral vision.  
“You seriously want to push this now?”

“After this cooperative effort is cast off, you will drop out of sight, no? Now is my only chance.”

Straining her face, Aruu nudges her less-than-joyous expression near her ex.  
“And why would you assume I’d tell you a single word of it?”

The hostility is nearly combusting, but Rax, to her credit, does not rise to it. She doesn’t shy away, nor duplicate the heat. Her gaze merely drifts from eye to eye.  
“I don’t. This is why I’m asking, appealing to your kinder and more amenable sensibilities. I realize you won’t forgive me for…our past, but you won’t have to. I simply care to hear that an old friend of mine is genuinely safe and not held at an emotional swordpoint.”

And here, Aruu snorts and pull her face away.  
“Friend? Really?”

“Aruu, please…you have already disclosed more than we’re legally approved for.”

“Then perhaps I should keep my mouth firmly shut and not dig the grave deeper.”

“I’ve partnered with intelligence organizations before, draenei ones. I know what’s at stake, what they’re capable of.”

The way which she phrases it makes Aruu briskly and lividly maneuver to regard Rax once more.  
“Excuse me? That’s what you reckon is happening? Blackmail or bribing?”

At this charge, Rax is a tad more hesitant, dropping her focus to the ground.  
“Well…I’m honestly somewhat out of touch here.”

“And out of your elements, I suspect. You were a Vindicator, Rax, not a spy or rangari.”

The paladin breathes out through her nose, forfeiting just about, but not in full.  
“Then prove it. Illustrate to me that my apprehension is paranoia and not legitimate skepticism.”

Aruu glares at Rax with the energy of a bursting sun, clenching and burying her fist into the earth in a manifestation of her faltering temper. Rax is quite cognizant that the odds are still 50/50 whether Aruu will recount the tale or eviscerate the paladin’s face with an axe. Or just her nails.  
Gradually, she swivels away, homing in on the ruin and the objective, in order to regulate her degenerating mood. Might push her over the edge otherwise.

“Not that it’s any of your business…but if you’re so persistent, I’ll indulge you.” And in all likelihood, partially out of spite. It could underwrite once and for all that Aruu is a resourceful, skilled woman, who can do without the coddling.  
“After a dreary period of languishing, I grew taxed with the ordinary life of the Exodar and consequently sought challenge, battle. Of course, I set my sights on the Horde. I set out and began my quest in Kalimdor. Had some success for a few weeks too. But prior to fulfilling my deepest hostile whims, I was contacted and intercepted by an unsourced and undefined…association.”

In the process of story, Rax had centered her aim over the fields, to be on the lookout for unforeseen snags, but doubles back right away.  
“Association?”

“They confessed to have trailed me for a prolonged time and told me that my talents could come into much better service for the Alliance. If I was ‘done clobbering like an infant’, they had a proposition.”

“…they actually said that?”

Aruu hurls a face at Rax which tells her not to drive this inquiry in.  
“With little else to feed on, I begrudgingly accepted the offer and was henceforth transferred to a remote and off the grid destination, somewhere in Stormwind territory. Don’t ask for the nitty-gritty, for I scarcely recall it myself.  
There, I met with a short stocky human woman, who introduced herself as General Rita Hammond, head of the Ninth Legion, one of the top ranked officers in the Alliance military. She invited me in and once we’d shared a drink, clued me in on that she’d been illuminated of my past performance and deftness in the draenei army. She pinpointed specifically our ‘war’ versus the orcs on Draenor, the transition I had undergone by the spirits. Said she ‘wasn’t an authority on the elements and ancestors’ and so forth, but she gleaned that I could very well be.  
The reports they’d compiled on me had impressed her and other renowned representatives of the Ninth Legion. Claimed that she was confident I had plenty to contribute in the special forces. She conceded that the accounts outlined my exceptional proficiency in topics of brutal productivity and strewing rampage, but also sloppy, uncontrolled, aimless and a waste of a fine blade.” She snorts wistfully. “Almost as if master Nobundo himself wrote it. General Hammond insisted that, with a handler’s touch, I could tame some forbearance and direction. Section Three was her proposal as the instrument of control.”

“And you…took the deal?”

“Not posthaste. She allotted me a number of weeks to knock it around. Naturally, I was…torn”, she voices, shortly prior to giving Rax a meaningful glance, “in light of my former career.”  
Rax’s features send signals of a rueful reaction to this comment, even if she keeps thoughts to herself.  
“But when it all comes down to it, this is who I am. A fighter, a soldier, a…doer. It may not be pretty, won’t afford me medals, parades and public commendations, but it is labor that must be done, for the Alliance.” To articulate it, she stares poignantly into the paladin’s eyes. “And I’d be grateful if you _stayed out of it_.”

In time, they have to let up and decrease their volumes, as the entranceway to the ruin is coming into view and grows deserted. The team has traced a path along the outer reaches of the open widths of the vicinity, bolting from tree to tree.  
The pocket where the gateway lies is overarchingly stripped of vegetation, save grass, to make room for the structures and installations that the age old troll denizens produced. Thariss bestows the exterior level a rather unimpressed once-over.  
“Whew. These really are some ramshackle hives, huh? No one’s renovated this place since my mom was in school, I bet.”

“Don’t let the face value deceive you”, asserts Bekkit. “Though the ground-level scenery is delipidated and inadequately conserved in this late era of its lifespan, our squad accomplished cursory scouting, hours ahead of our capture. The entryway you see over there constitute subterranean tunnels that were dug out and sculpted underneath.”

“No shit? What’s down there?”

“Purportedly some high-profile deceased of ages past were laid to rest in the burrow, but it was prevailingly adopted for use as an ancient research station.”

Riv’s ears twitches with fascination.  
“Research of what?”

The gnome lifts her hand to display an absence of answers.  
“Who knows? No details of the experiments housed here have materialized for us. Should we unearth preserved journals of any sort, it would be most compelling to deconstruct the specifics. Even then, there is the quandary of hunting down a willing translator with education in the ancient Drakkari dialect of Zandali…”

“Which isn’t our priority”, Aruu punctuates. “Stick to the objective, Bekkit.”

“Ah, yes, naturally, Lieutenant.”

Breaching the ruins is infinitely more intuitive on this occasion, on account of no spies or lurking shadows fastening onto their every step, to betray their mobility. The squadron lies in wait for a secondary patrol to go their route and then promptly advances as delicately as they’re permitted, towards the unobstructed maw, which curiously is left ostensibly uncharted.  
The inner hallways are truly in a degraded state, forlorn and neglected. There’s no honest to goodness doorway, for the ingress is verging on a hole in the ground rather than a grand avenue.

It does digress beyond a simple pit, however. Stone stairs descend into pitch blackness, flanked by intricate antiquated symbols and artistic depictions of animals – one is presumably a polar bear, another a snake. Renditions of the Drakkari loa, perchance?  
The tunnels down here are extensive and dim, devoid of a meaningful light source. The group plunges into this pool of shades, but puts off devising one of their own until the stars are no longer visible. Then, Thariss fetches a torch from her bag and lets her girlfriend ignite it.

Thariss and Riv alike have to squash fits of coughing. Their throats are provoked by the dust that litters the floor, outcroppings and antique paraphernalia, which nest discarded from a diminished generation.  
As none of them can brag about archaeological training, nor any knack for anthropology, the general value of the place is quite lackluster, for it contains hardly anything of note. This isn’t a treasure hunt, but there are also no imperative components for the task at hand which jut out and snatch their interest. No maps, no markers, empirical items that would string them along.

It’s hard to declare that these halls are a maze, for they’re not quite so comprehensive and a few tunnels are caved in. A small count of them even comprise old triggered traps.  
Aruu treads into the front, the clomping of her hoofs scattering just lightly over the walls. With a somber and resolute expression, she hastily studies the roads which branch out.  
“Combing each and every one of these tunnels will take too long”, she alleges. “We don’t have all night, but we’re counting on that the Splinter is concealed in a slot here somewhere.”

Having uncoupled herself for a minute or so, Riv now comes rounding a corner into the same corridor.  
“Razz and I swept the adjacent paths over here. Not much to report, really. They appear to go on and on. That said, there is definitely something…elusive about this habitat, a little odd.”

“Odd?”, Thariss repeats. “You smellin’ something, babe?”

Reflexively, the blood elf grazes a few fingers over her own nose.  
“I didn’t discover any arcane traces, but yes, there is a cleansing scent. It hangs faintly in the air, but subtle.”

Aruu pitches an eyebrow up.  
“It does? That’s suspicious. There can’t be a smell without a source, right?”

“I concur. Either we’re dealing with an illusion or another type of magical guise is at work here.”

Even if she’s aware at it won’t be welcomed with open arms, Rax reckons she has to put her suggestion forward.  
“I can enact some perception prayers, Aruu, try to find a trail. If this lair’s veins are steeped in corruption, the Light will guide me to it.”

Surprisingly, Aruu shrugs.  
“Go ahead. It’s worth a shot.”

A fleeting smile decorates Rax’s lips, before she clears her throat and tries to concentrate. She shuts her eyes, lays a hand onto her own chest and mumbles in the draenei tongue, a plea to the Light and a yearning for its wisdom. Aruu seems to bear a minimal reliance on it and doesn’t lend it scores of credence.  
For Rax’s elven cohorts, it’s a noteworthy opportunity to observe Aruu’s impersonal affinity for it. Her disenchantment for the Light registers as altogether earnest.

Seconds later, Rax’s eyes flip open and she instinctively banks to a particular corridor.  
“This way. I detect a malicious entity down this passage, or several, rather. Like…dots of contamination, flecks of death. A Scourge spark.”

The blood elf’s frame freezes slightly, which urges Thariss to grab and clutch her hand for comfort. In the meantime, Aruu puts one of her fists in the palm of the other.  
“Ah, I knew it. Had my fingers on it, but no evidence. They have to be the culprit.”

“Let us not be so heedless”, proclaims Rax. “I do not think it is as straightforward as you presuppose, Aruu. This power font that I can sense, it is…bent somehow, marred.”

The shaman is unperturbed by her paltry warning.  
“It’s the undead, Rax. What were you expecting?”

“That is not what I implied. I am saying that this is not the Scourge, but most assuredly…reminiscent. If I were to guess, I would surmise it is a deviating entity which exploits a necromancer’s likeness.”

Aruu isn’t fully satisfied with this description, but she lets it off the hook.  
“Can you guide us to the accurate whereabouts?”

“Without hesitation, yes.”

The shaman flags the road with her hand.  
“By all means. For the rest of you, I also counsel unsheathing of weaponry. Let us remain alert and set for battle.”

Strangely, what Rax navigates to is nothing more than a closed and apparently stable rock wall, with no transparency, as solid as solid can be.  
“Hmm. This should be the correct route. The stained aura oozes from this venue.”

“Well, whomever is in there, they could’ve activated some defunct defenses. It’s the only logical outcome, why Rivaryn senses aroma but no visual evidence and why your tracks end here.”

Thariss picks up the sword in her hand and taps it onto the wall. There’s a palpable resistance, meaning it is not a hugely clever trick.  
“So, the hitch in this case is, how do we get inside?”

“There is little doubt in my mind they powered the ingrained mechanism by fueling it with spiritual essence. I can hear the faint anguished cries of cursed souls upon the breeze. Lost troll ones, I wager.”

“Can you fix it, then? You got your uh…” The night elf pauses and rolls her fingers in the air, hoping to find the right term. “…spiritual whatsit. Drop in the bucket, right?”

Aruu turns to frown at her ignorance.  
“No, I can’t. There are miles apart between the schools of shamanism and necromancy. We commune, they enslave.  
I can confer with ancestors, yes, but my foremost bridge is to the-“  
Her elaboration is suddenly cut short by Riv shushing her.  
“…pardon? You can’t-“

But the hunter raises a finger, to show that she should hold her tongue.  
“I hear footsteps.”

Dread grips and soaks them all in an immediate gating of sound.  
“Where?”, whispers Thariss.

Riv gives it another chunk of seconds, until she gestures at the wall, the same obstruction to Rax’s search. A moment or two elapses, but the rest catches the same pitter-patter imminently.  
“Hurry”, Aruu warns them in a low pitch, “get into cover!”

They can’t afford to be uncovered too soon, preceding acquisition of sufficient data on this whole affair. In keeping with Aruu’s assessment, they all pile away and find an empty corridor to slink into. The torch they lit earlier is extinguished and impulsively, Riv places a hand over Razz’s maw, as a precaution, however unnecessary.

Just as they conjectured, the racket of a door opening bounces across the walls, as some manner of secret sliding entrance is pulled ajar. The pocket is no more than a meter at most, but one figure comes forth from it. Per the contours, they gather that it’s a human. However, the audience is shocked as they bear witness to how its anatomy begins to shift into another build, more beastly. Claws spring out of the hands, a thick light brown fur overtakes practically every particle of skin, the head elongates and develops a predator’s fangs and its eyes blaze in a decisive yellow.

The team can’t stand and gawk for long, as the beast seems to be in a real hurry, inspecting its surroundings for but a second or two, before it enters a hasty pace and rushes off. Confoundingly, it sprints in the opposite direction of the located doorway, delving further into the ruin. A back exit?  
Nearly everybody who spotted the stunt are stunned into muteness, ineffective at producing a remark on what they beheld. There is one stark exception – Thariss.

“Huh. Now that was a real twist, wasn’t it?”

Her tone matches their baffled states, but predominantly for the characteristics of the creature, not the transformation.  
“Uh, dear”, exits Riv’s lips, “do you…know what that was?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. The odds are like…phenomenally improbable, but that was a worgen for sure.”

All in all, the group is uninformed on the name and Rax gets to embody their obliviousness.  
“Worgen?”, she asks. “That word has not been amid the vocabulary which I was taught of your world.”

“Yeah, that tracks. They’re not a common afternoon tea discussion topic, so lemme catch ya up to speed – the worgen are…a kaldorei creation, or some such. My brother, Carvall – the druid - talked about ‘em once. Told me that peeps from his Order brought those things into existence.”

Riv tilts her head incredulously.  
“They _made_ worgen? How?”

“Well, story goes that, millennia ago, as my people were vying with the satyrs, we were in a sorta tough bind and sought new strengths, outlets of power. The druids pulled off the development of a technique they dubbed the ‘pack form’. Had the hide of a wolf.  
Sadly, despite all the might and fortitude of the spell, the mental downside was that it tapped into an unstable rage and ferocity in the brain, rendering them incapable of fully taming it. Those who tried, and failed, to master it were lost. Supposedly, they were banished to the emerald dream, but this was…y’know, eons ago.”

Bekkit clears her throat.  
“As a matter of fact, I happen to have browsed some documented cases of these…worgen, in the northern strips of the Eastern Kingdoms. Reportedly, they can still be found in that region, but I’ve seen no mention of them in Northrend.”

Aruu ponders the intel she’s yielded, her tail swinging from side to side.  
“Are they sentient?”

Both Thariss and Bekkit wavers.  
“Uh…kinda iffy on that, now that you ask”, admits the night elf.

“It shouldn’t be…unthinkable”, posits Bekkit. “This specimen carried the simulacrum of a human prior to switching, right?”

“Yeah, should be a furless guy ‘neath all that, somewhere.”

A plot is hatched in the recesses of Aruu’s head and she swirls to Riv.  
“You are a hunter, correct?”

Riv blinks bemusedly.  
“Erm…yes?”

“Could you rig up a trap?”

“Oh, yeah, without a bother. A basic one shouldn’t take more than a minute or two. With my engineering kit, I could craft something more advanced; this might extend the time frame, though.”

“Okay, then please get on it at once. I’ll leave the design up to you.  
We’re going to capture that worgen, see what it knows. We will need insight on this bunker, a map, layout and loads of other facets. This is our best bet.”

There are costs integrated in attempting such a bold measure, physical expenses, but regardless of risks, they decide to go ahead with the gambit anyway. If they are to hog the prize pouch on this one, going above and beyond is paramount.

* * *

  
An hour or so passes until the worgen returns. In its razor-sharp grasp, it drags a body of an animal or prey. Deer, by the curve of the horns and the dimensions of the torso. Nothing that fazes them.

The snaring of the entity is quick, but not out-and-out seamless. Having been tasked to engineer not just a constructive device, but a silent one, Riv went with the most baseline – a set of provisional bolas, grafted to a pressurized wire. As the worgen stumbles onto it, the bolas are instantly launched from a low horizontal vector, which sling around its ankles. It trips over with a tiny stupefied gasp, which converts into an aching grunt as it hits the floor.

Subsequently, Thariss storms in and whacks the worgen with her shield, sending it into unconsciousness. Takes two swings, but it does the trick. Then, they tie a harder knot with ropes over its arms and drags it into an auxiliary chamber.  
In here, they bide until it regains its wits. Upon wakening, it vigorously rattles its head with bewilderment and agitation, before it registers that it is ensnared and watched by an array of judging gazes. A low growl leaves its maw, but the way that the ears slump also exposes its fear.

“Can you comprehend my words?”, Aruu asks demandingly. It doesn’t answer, but there’s an unmistakable intelligence, a clarity.  
“I have questions that need answers. Who are you?”  
Not unexpectedly, it growls again, this one with a heftier undertone. As it exhibits a glaring disinclination to talk, Aruu furrows her brow with a hint of cunning, as it hits her how she has to organize this interrogation.  
“Don’t feel like being cooperative? Very well. I have fixes for this.”

Rax takes a gander towards her.  
“Aruu?”

“Shh.” She bends her knees, tipping her head closer to the worgens. It’s invariably smart enough to parse that, should it try to bite her, Thariss with her sword in hand would make it pay.  
“Have you ever encountered a shaman in your life? We control the elements, the focal cornerstones of existence, the fundamentals for the natural world. The earth below your feet rumbles to my touch, the heat from the flame chatters in my ear, the air that encircle us dances over my skin…and the water which compose your body is like the current of a river.  
It is a rudimentary matter for one of my kind who wants, to distort the very makeup of elemental forces. If I call…”  
Her voice temporarily vanishes, and she plants her palm onto the ground. With a dash of focus, she accumulates the willpower and decisiveness to coral the ground into obeying her wishes. A moment later, they all see a crack in the grime just inches from her fingers. Then another behind her palm. A third spawns by her thumb and then it progresses exponentially after this. They grow larger and thicker, as if the very floor is crumbling under the gargantuan pressure of a giant’s appendage. Aruu stops when she has wreaked a miniature crater in the floor, at which point she locks her eyes with the worgen’s again.  
“…it disintegrates beneath my touch.” She now elevates this hand and slowly drives it towards him. “Shall we test if your water will boil in the same fashion?”

And now, the worgen breaks, being scared into submission. It flinches and the hiss it exudes sounds as if it quivers.  
“Stop!”, it shouts in fluent Common, though a little warped by the gravelly frequency. “I’ll tell what you want to know!”

With a pleased nod, Aruu gets up on her hooves again. In the corner of her vision, she discerns a distressed tremor on Rax’s face, but she ignores it.  
“Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“My…my name is Davot. I-I’m with the Bloodmoon pack.”

“Bloodmoon? Who are they? Another Scourge lackey?”

The vein in which he snarls is almost indignant.  
“We are minions of no one! We carve our own way and the Grizzly Hills is our domain.”

Thariss sniggles with a dash of mockery.  
“That so? Ain’t doing much of anything down here in your underground rathole, now are ya?”

Davot bares his fangs at the elf, but it’s nothing more than a measly gesture. He snaps back to the draenei when Aruu kicks her hoof into the indentation she smashed out earlier.  
“Who are the Bloodmoon? You have a chief, don’t you?”

For a wink or two, he grows conflicted, indecisive if he should be revolting or not. In the end, he proves too squeamish to flirt with death.  
“We serve…Arugal.”

“Who?”, poses Riv. “I don’t know that name.”

“Arugal? Of Shadowfang Keep?”, probes Bekkit. “That individual was eliminated years ago by the Horde.”

“He was”, admits Davot, “but the Scourge…reanimated him, on orders from the Lich King himself. He was sent to orchestrate the reformation and revamp of what the undead call ‘the Wolfcult’. He gave us the title of Bloodmoon thereafter.”

“Hmm. Is there any correlation between you and the Shadowfang pack?”

Davot is outwardly a tad perplexed by the name and shakes his head.  
“Not that I know, but the name is unfamiliar to me. All we know is lord Arugal, our guide. He showed us the way, made us who we are.”

Growing quite jumbled herself, Thariss lifts her hand to redirect attention to her.  
“Wait a sec. If you serve Arugal and Arugal was repopped by the Scourge…aren’t you Scourge followers?”

“No”, he retorts sharply. “…and yes.”

“…you lil’ shit. You’re deliberately confusing me, aren’t ya?”

“Enough”, Aruu interrupts. “You, Davot, I demand to know what your plot was, the marrow of all this work down here.”

“We are performing experiments, on lord Arugal’s behest.”

“For the Scourge’s benefit.”

Davot huffs.  
“No! For ours. The undead plague will never gain what we concoct here.”

“This Arugal was reconstructed by them. As far as I’ve perceived, nothing can fully escape their reign.”

“Then you have been misinformed. He may have rose from the dead, but our liege retained a sense of self, of his will and he is not content to languish as a puppet of another master. He craves freedom and the same for his pack.  
These ruins were chosen for two reasons. On the one hand, they keep away the scrutinizing fixation of the Lich King’s shades; on the other, they harbor untapped energies brimming from the ground. Or so our alpha insists. What we achieve down here will ultimately help in liberating us from the Scourge’s rotten paws.”

Aruu kneels once again, but here, she wields less leniency. She clutches one of her axes by the hilt and holds its blade up to Davot’s throat. This is unshakably a coercive approach and she can easily ascertain how he swallows nervously.  
“Are you at fault for the Drakkari getting the drop on my team a few weeks ago?”

The tip hovers mere breaths astray from his skin, and the edge virtually glimmers in anticipation.  
“If…if you’re putting the blame on our pack, then…yes. We had scouts that held vigil over our territory, to sniff out threats. Your Alliance flock was marked as one.”

“Did you follow us from the get-go?”

“I...was not there, but the scouts hounded your every stride. They alerted the trolls, with our alpha’s blessing.”

“They’re your allies?”

He swallows once more, close to gulping.  
“No. They apprised the trolls in secret, to waylay both of your searches of the ruins.”

With this last revelation, Aruu’s focus marginally dulls.  
“Very well. ‘Thank you’ for your cooperation, Davot. I believe that’s all we required.”  
She swings back her axe, ready to execute him, but it never cuts into its victim. Her decapitation is prevented by a hand that clutches and curtails Aruu’s wrist – Rax. The shaman flips towards her, both flabbergasted and furious.  
“What are you doing?”

Rax tactically swaps to their language.  
“This is not the honorable thing to do, Aruu.”

“ _Honor?_ I don’t give a talbuk’s ass for his life! This…creature is an enemy of the Alliance and got a lot of good soldiers butchered! I’m only delivering his well-earned sentence.”

“Did you not listen? He was not one of the scouts and though we can argue he isn’t innocent, is it an Alliance policy to execute unarmed prisoners? That’s not the coalition our people signed on with.”

Aruu grimaces, glowers at her former partner as if to make her perish with an optical strike; a visage that Rax has, sadly, contracted more than once. The only original aspect of it is the realization on the shaman’s features, that she’s committed an error. When Rax relinquishes her hold, Aruu sullenly groans and then slices Davot’s bindings instead.  
“Get out of here, before I let the elements rend you into shreds.”  
The worgen is astonished with this display of mercy, but he does not bide long enough for them to change their minds. As he flees, Aruu levels a hand in Rax’s direction.  
“Not a word.” She angles towards the remainder of the group, situating her back against the paladin. “I believe I’ve formulated a strategy to overcome our latest challenge. This cult lured us into a trap of the Drakkari, doomed a lot of our compatriots. How about we return the favor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In game, Drak'Zin doesn't have an underground lair_   
>  _...but that's because you didn't find it! That's definitely the reason and not me making this entire section up_


	37. Section Three (part 4)

The now ruins of Drak’Zin has a long and arguably problematic history. The innermost and somewhat concealed chamber in the depths of the complex is one of preeminent privacy, a secret verging on as old as the empire’s lifespan. Once upon a time, it was fortified with layers of sophisticated magical safeguards and sorcerous reflective barriers, to keep its invaluable contents intact and under wraps. Were the empire’s populace itself unsuspecting to the grim, abject reality? Were its leaders?

For unregistered motives, Drak’Zin was abandoned to its fate. One day, the work force and its big name officials collected their people, packed up their bags and walked out. Annals and timeworn manifests have redacted the name from all indexes and archivists have perennially bowed to the wisdom of yesterday. There was nil cause for other convictions.  
That is, right up until the Scourge beset them and frightened the Drakkari into executing slews of drastic procedures in order to preserve the integrity and life of their society.

Contrary to some beliefs, the Drakkari do not wholeheartedly avoid the under reaches of the debris, but instead limit their exploration of its deserted riches to the daylight hours.  
However, as they enter on this day, the head researcher of the Drakkari regiment makes an irregular discovery, which urges him to mandate additional estimates to his guard detail. He thought he had gotten his bearings down here in the gloomy succumbed roads, that there was nothing overall new to lay before his astute nose, aside from historical tool sets and implements. But as he wanders inside today, he treads onto an inexplicable line of fresh dirt, practically a trail. With piqued sensibilities, he follows it until he’s ushered straight in the thick of a scene with a dropped body, the carcass of a deer.

How did it get in here and was undone? It has not entered a decomposing stage, but all the same, it was flagrantly attacked and killed, intended as someone’s dinner. A predator or a conscious hunter? But then why would anyone simply drop a meal and consign it to grow fallow? Something doesn’t sit right here. Thus, the researcher resumes his investigation, all the way to the brink of the nearby wall, where he uncovers yet another lead to whatever trespasser has violated their jurisdiction.

Around neck height, there is a marked outlining of cracks in the wall, damage of some sort that is beyond mere age. A person induced this, potentially via an attack or careless practice. But while the inspirations are fascinating at the best, it’s subpar in contrast with his new revelation – there is a slit in the wall. Not a rupture of atrophy, but a crafted hole, albeit thin. Is there a passage behind it? A secret entrance?

Construing that there’s something amiss here, the chief researcher commands some of his laborers to get busy and pry the hidden avenue open, so that he can dig into it. Takes some doing, but with sophisticated application of hexes from those schooled in the ways of the shadow, the right gadgets and good old fashioned force, they tear the archway open.  
Within the next block of the grounds is a multitude of branches and a more convoluted grid of tunnels. These ones are narrower, but also replete with tokens, seals and outdated imprints on the sides. All very eye-opening, but not enough.

Past one distinct corner, the chief stumbles, to his surprise, into a living being down here. One in his position would irrefutably find the opportunity to come across a ghost of his forebears a literal dream, but this isn’t what he reels in.  
In place of this, the creature he spots dawdling over a bench mounted against one of the surfaces is what externally appears to be a human, a man. The framework of this portrayal is lost on him, but in the end, it has little meaning. A human is luxuriating in the heart of Drakkari property. This cannot stand.

But in lieu of retaining his stationary state, the man flinches, reverses a couple of meters and then deforms and reshapes, evoking the gift of his curse. As claws and fangs bear themselves, he throws open his maw and roars a guttural threat.  
Coincidentally, the troll scowls at it, as if he recognizes precisely the essence of this entity. He points at the worgen and adamantly commissions his troops in the Drakkari dialect of Zandali.

“Annihilate this fiend.”  
The main mob of Drakkari races ahead, piling into this worgen and the upcoming ones that barge in to cut them off at the pass and hem the trolls into this endemic lane. A full-out scuffle breaks down.

Not all are restricted to such a tunnel vision. At the far end of the retinue, a duo tests the credentials of a side corridor, one that radiates with a sense of emptiness. Sadly, they are punished for their nosiness. As they go about inspecting the equipment strewn on the stone tiles and benches, the gaze of the one closest to the exit blackens as an axe rips into the back of his head. For the second, it is identically fast, though in the shape of a summoned ball of molten rock. The last sight he sees is the frowning face of the draenei shaman that terminated both trolls in seconds.

As Aruunel signs them off, she then peers over her shoulder and motions for the rest to march in line. Raxeen does not voice it, but she’s mildly put off by how callously Aruu eliminated the two unknowing trolls, giving her pause for how hard-hearted her old beloved has gone.  
They drop speed for a couple of ticks, to permit the shaman a bit of agency on their next phase.  
“Bekkit, hold this emplacement and guard against stalkers. Rivaryn, if you can, tell your raptor to stay and reinforce her. The four of us will carry on into the guts of the ruin.”

Riv inclines her head curtly, before she presses her forehead carefully onto Razz’s jaw.  
“Dear, keep Bekkit here safe, will you? She’s a marksman like me, so I’ll be banking on you to shield her as you would me.”  
The raptor emits a murmur of a grunt, nearly a purr, as he nuzzles into her ear, affirming their stratagem. He’ll do what is shouldered unto him.

On their progress through the various zigs and zags, they distinguish a load of icons and glyphs chiseled into the stone of the walls, but these ones differ quite acutely from the beasts in the main halls. Instead, it’s like they depict an eerie nurturing, with sequences of alterations. On account of the maturity of the images, the actual message is hard to parse, but to Thariss, it is vaguely familiar.  
“Don’t suppose anyone might know what all this is?”, asks Riv.

“Actually…”, the night elf expresses tentatively, “…I do, sorta.”

“Sort of?”

Thariss involuntarily shudders as the thoughts materialize in her head.  
“I've bumped into runes and emblems that weren’t unlike these ones. I’m not a total 100%, but they carry a scary resemblance to stuff on qiraji gear.”

Riv is taken aback, blinking in a staggered fashion.  
“That…insect race your people warred with?”

“Bingo. Nasty bug fuckers.  
That being said, this stuff looks by far less…worship-y.”

“So, you’re implying…”

Thariss dejectedly shuts her eyes.  
“Goddess, I wish I wasn’t getting at anything right now.”  
Feeling for her beloved, Riv softly rubs a hand at Thariss’ back, despite the armor sort of being an obstacle.

Catching their conversation, Aruu halts and nabs an eyeful of the aforementioned engravings, noticing the shapes of the lengthened extremities, like tentacles, and what may very well be trolls fleeing in unmitigated terror. In the skies above, there is what weirdly could be an entity with an unseemly amount of mouths.  
“The Old Gods.”

The grip Riv maintains on her rifle stiffens.  
“You don’t think they…venerated such creatures, do you?”

“Impossible to declare at this stage.”

Rax, with Kerashta Rakkan’s hilt resting along her shoulder, rolls it around in her head for a second.  
“Wait, Aruu, did Bekkit’s input not attest that this was a research facility?”

“According to one of the specialists we had in our team who could speak Zandali, yes.”

The paladin waves at the pictures.  
“Then perhaps we have deduced their field of study.”

By the other side, Thariss’ face scrunches up by virtue of the disturbing ideas it gives her.  
“That’s nuts. Only morons would meddle with that kinda menace.”

“Which would account for why they either cut and run, or met a unanimous untimely end”, cites Riv.

“Brush aside these concerns for now and steady your aim”, Aruu commands. “The fighting is ramping up in there and we still have to throw off our adversaries before we can snatch our prize.”

The elves steel their hearts for battle and nod their assents. One thing that Rax has to inwardly validate her former lover for is how decisive she’s grown, how effortlessly she takes the reins and guides troops into her course. It’s not as if Aruu was ever a pushover, but in her younger years, she felt maladjusted to the seat of authority. When did this change, Rax wonders? After the slaughter or upon crashing into Azeroth?

In the roots of the elderly shafts, the fighting is really upsurging, almost to a critical mass where the turmoil could conceivably aggregate genuine fractures in the rock. The worgen are seemingly invested in a desperate undertaking to save their achieved research up till now, as the trolls barrel into their roadblocks and rip the works to shreds. It’s beyond recall that the furry defenders will either be forced to flee or give way.

Concurrently, the quartet skirts the fringes of the room, largely devoting their efforts to bypass flat out engagements. The priority is to abscond with the artifact.  
Speaking of which, the contraption in question lies on a slab of flat rock, a form of pedestal only nominally elevated above the floor, but still in a hugely central area. Impediments derive from multiple hotspots on the heading to their payoff, however, through pairs or trios of enemies that batter it out. The alpha worgen Davot hinted at is in the far end of this array of violence.

The mercs do not discriminate – they lash against both sides, to cut a swath. They aren’t immediately drawing attention, but creating some kind of hubbub is unavoidable.  
Thariss, the steel juggernaut that she is, bounces into the forefront.  
“Who’s that in the shadows, skulking and staying perfectly still?”, she taunts to some unaware soldiers, just prior to leaping out and punching one of the non-turned worgen right across the mouth. “It’s a Dusksong all up in your grill!”

“Thariss, careful!”, cries Riv, as she plonks down on one knee, curses to herself in a mutter, and snipes whatever portions of her enemies’ bodies that she can cluster in her sight, to support her betrothed.

Rax bolsters their field to begin with, but is required to pivot as she regards Aruu legging ahead, committing the full force of her potency to attain the Splinter of Malorne.  
As foes vie but meters away, the alpha is beset by the shaman herself, who announces her arrival with a ferocious shout. The large worgen mutates into his true form, but it’s a half measure versus Wog’randash.

They may have plunged underground, but nonetheless the winds ripple into existence to cloak Aruu’s armor and weapons, howling for the blood of her opposition. The alpha’s effort cannot be demeaned as pathetic, for he does indeed put up a challenge for the shaman. As she storms into him, he thwarts her attacks by skipping away, feeling a sweat coming on given how intensely close it was. He then counterattacks with swipes and slashes of his claws.

At the end of the day, he does not have the moxie nor the constitution to stand fast against the berserking thrashes of Aruu’s assaults. She will rout him, of that there can be no second-guessing.  
In a weak sliver, she hacks into his arm, imbued by the rustling winds, which compromises his odds of victory. But it’s when she kicks his chest and pummels his head that the outlook for his survival is genuinely pale.

Aruu is not one for mercy, not when revenge is on her mind. At least his end is swift, for he realistically cannot grok the swing that follows. She charges the winds with a higher frequency, until they transmogrify into lightning. This energy is instilled in the axe, which she raises and hurls at him with. It sears across his body with such voltage that he can utter no conclusive howl as his body tumbles defeated to the floor.

With the rest of the fight still ongoing, Aruu turns her retinas to the Splinter. The power levels of it is yet surging, overflowing with a seriously grotesque gale. She can hear faint whispers in its proximity, buzzing of doom. She defies the alarming sirens of her mind and goes for it anyhow; she didn’t come all this way to be bested by illusions.  
The Splinter itself is shaped like a piece of one meter long bark from a tree, though discolored and with perverse veins now literally pulsating over its shell, in a disturbing rot-green shade.

But just as she grabs ahold of the Splinter and tears it off its resting place, the energy reaches a pivotal moment and goes critical. Somehow, from incomprehensible origins, a rift unshuts from the ground, to either a separate location or an entirely alternative realm. From it unfurls eldritch abominations. Huge and shadowy tentacles grab onto several random fighters, Aruu among them. It seizes her wrist and squeezes hard. As she’s holding the Splinter with one hand, her weapon arm drops the tool in her grasp, giving her no means to defend herself. If she presumed it would try to fight her, she’s at the altogether wrong address, for the limb gradually pulls her in, right in the direction of the rift, which beats like a heart. Those who had the misfortune to be ensnared suffer the same fate.

She’s gaining both desperation and horror by the futility of her struggle, as she is nowhere near strong enough to yank herself free. She’s about to be scarfed down into the maw, whether she wants to or not.  
Due to the touch of the tendril on her body, a link is established and therefore, the whispers gain volume and impetus, getting louder in her deepest trenches. It is discomforting how cutting they are, rummaging within her core.

_“It was all your fault. You did not save them. You abandoned them to their demise. The guilt will never cease. You are irredeemable.”_

Aruu grits her teeth and the efficacy of these murmured revelations gets to her, eats at her soul and erodes her spirit. She hungers to call for the elements, but cannot assemble the focus.  
She can count her blessings, for she does not wallow in isolation. For once in her life, the Light comes to her deliverance, incarnated in the form of Rax, who dazzles the area with her aura. She steeps it in the cleansing qualities of Kerashta Rakkan and slams the crystal hammer straight onto the tentacle’s girth. Though it doesn’t get lopped off, the golden ignition erupts over its skin like a tremor.

As a response to raw instinct, it lets go, retracts from Aruu and discharges a howling shriek, like a hundred wails in tandem, but does not completely dissolve. One final push has to be availed in order to perish the pollution.  
“Garamos azghirada vatil!”, exclaims Rax. “You do not belong here, you foul aberration. Go back to the shadows from whence you came.”

Though it endeavors to disobey her admonishment, runes of Light solidify over Rax’s dark violet skin, which all accrue and form a golden spear in her hand. Once it’s completed from top to bottom, she rotates it and takes aim.  
She hits the entity square in the center, the hub of all darkness. This is what once and for all breaks its hold on the environment, drawing it into a dormant state, like the sun scattering the night.

Alas, a brief respite is all they reap. The collapse of whatever phantom this happened to be is apparently innately corded to the cohesion of the ruin. A sudden quake takes the wind out of everyone’s sails, which is followed up by breaches and chinks in the floor and walls, that arises everywhere. Patches of the roof starts to tumble down and the dust billows across their visions.

“Uh, guys?”, says Thariss. “Just a wild guess, but I think that’s the cue for us to get the fuck outta this joint.” She gasps and takes a split second step back, narrowly eluding a big chunk smashing her. “Like, pronto!”

“A wise assessment”, Rax replies. “Run!”

The paladin steadfastly clutches Aruu and glances at her ex, who remains jarred from what she underwent, but not to the extent where she will desist tightly squeezing the Splinter. She hence tolerate herself being guided into safer harbors.  
As they jump ship and book it, they snatch Bekkit and Razz along the way, a duo that has seemingly gotten out of any and all threats safe and sound. They opt to grab the backway that Davot had left through hours ago, and as they depart, a few Drakkari give chase. Luckily, the trolls are discouraged from sticking with it, when some get buried underneath the falling debris. The chief researcher lets them go, in favor of fleeing scot-free.

Minutes later, the team exits via a hidden hatch in the middle of the forest, off course from the Drakkari. Time to head back to Amberpine, then. Mission accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Rax didn't say anything of consequence, other than a sort of threat. I just like making up draenei words for her to shout. It's what she does_   
>  _This is the end of this mini arc. Aruunel and Section Three will return in future stories_


	38. Death's rendezvous

Zul’Drak is an empire of ice trolls, adapted and invigorated by the cold swaths that many of the central nations view as unflourishable. As of late, the Argent Crusade has, in a sour twist of fate, had to retrace old steps and afford themselves a reminder of this. Or rather, the environment has, because by the Light’s blaze is it cold up here. That is of course right on target for Northrend’s big picture, but the torment has only cranked up.

Zul’Drak is a land on the precipice of either the greatest victory in their entire enduring history, the crowning achievement of hundreds or thousands of proud generations, or a total and invariable extinction.  
Infrequent reports and dispersed rumormongering have told the narrative of an all-out free-for-all on the thrashed streets of the empire. Scourge versus troll versus loa versus frenzied elementals versus death knights. Chaos has grabbed the land by the throat and wriggled it around, putting cracks in the seams, but it yet holds, if just by the skin of its teeth. Light knows how long it can retain its stability.

The Argent Crusade has also picked up an invitation from an unplanned source – a group of Zandalari trolls that seek accords with those who desire an end to the madness, but why they would even go so far as to throw down their gauntlets against the Drakkari is a blind spot in the Crusade’s knowhow.  
So, why then would the crusaders lurch audaciously into this nationwide deadlock in the first place? Well, partially given its their duty to ensure that the Scourge never goes unchallenged. But there can be no doubt or misgivings that they are overwrought with alarm by the rapid advancement of the Lich King’s minions in this domain. Though they’re not allied with the Drakkari, the prospect of a whole state falling would be an unvarnished catastrophe of the likes which they’d prefer to avoid in every way.

They also cannot refute one of their foremost objectives to overcome, which includes finding the rogue group of death knights with a growing reputation, ones that the Crusade at least possesses an ostensible connection to.  
For what it’s worth, the complement of troopers led by Captain Briggton is not the sole Argent-traced presence in all of the zone. Early birds from the faction have put together a base, somewhere in the western strips. The regimen for the Captain’s teams includes a visit to the command post, to get in the loop and earn some reference points of where they can proceed next.

While they have adeptly avoided notice, their luck is a great deal fouler weather-wise. A storm rages in the district they’re traversing now. Not ferocious, but still a blizzard, of vicious snow and cutting winds that practically teem with a propensity to flay them alive.  
Their precise location has thus been tough to pin down. They believe themselves to have ambled into southern or southwestern neighborhoods, but few landmarks are ever relinquished from this inexorable climate. They’ve yet to see much of anything out here.

In such refrigerated conditions, Ash’s worry has drifted unequivocally in Melia’s orbit. Even though the priestess isn’t unused to the cold by any means, Ash perpetually sees to it that she’s heated up. She has wrapped the human in more warm clothes than she herself is clad with, which the Lieutenant has not-so-gently alluded to, but Ash won’t leave room for the notion. Melia’s health is key. Her exercised excuse is to hide behind the curtain of a committed second-in-command, but they both speculate a detached undertone.

With the wind whipping her face and the snow essentially poaching on her skin under the armor, Ash trudges over to Melia and inclines into close quarters to be heard past the howling.  
“I wonder if we wouldn’t do well by pumping the breaks and setting camp, maybe outlast the storm under cover. At this merciless rate, it’s going to wear us out sooner or later.”

Melia pulls her cap down a bit and lets her other hand instinctively rest on Ash’s arm.  
“Noble idea, but out here in the open fields, I reckon it’ll do us more harm than good. Beyond that, we’d have to bend over backwards to assemble it and everything might fall apart in seconds with the tempo of these winds.”

Ash opens her mouth – not the brightest idea as snow invades her mouth – but generates little sound to start with. She concedes to her own folly.  
“Fair enough. But we can’t withstand it forever.”

The skies’ uncaring breath is not all that concerns her. She can’t shake the suspense stitching itself into her flesh. She has this unsettling, indefinable hunch that loitering here will end in tears, like something sinister is up.  
Before too long, it dawns on her that this could be more than the aversion to the cold. With stress at her back, she dedicates a quantity of her mental discipline to sweep the breadth of their scenery.

There! She can tag it, the chilling tingle which would only encompass one catalyst, a singular spirit.  
“You sense that?”, she inquiries.

Melia, a little perplexed by the unprompted question, pans to her Sergeant and unsuccessfully combs the countenance.  
“…sense?”

“Yeah, the magical imprint.”

“Uh…no? Unless 'magic' is code for cold, then yeah. Sensing it is the least of what I do.”

“No, not the cold. I….” She grimaces and momentarily falters, until she pats Melia’s shoulder.  
“Wait here.”

Melia’s confusion increases, hinted at by her speedy blinks.  
“What? Where’re you off to?”

“Need to have a word with the Captain. Stay where you are.”  
The blood elf does not solely walk, but as fast as her legs can carry her and the wind pressure permits, she rushes towards their human superior.  
“Captain Briggton! Urgent news. I have reason to believe that we’re in danger.”

Captain Lionel Briggton is, outwardly, a hardy and moderately bulky man, with fair skin and an ever-present light frown. His dark blonde and dimly greying hair is cut short and above his mouth sits a thick moustache. He’s equipped with a heavy plate in the grey and golden colors of the Crusade, with a tabard over his chest, though a hood and scarf encase his head at the moment. His green eyes set sights on Ash.  
“Danger?”, he asks in a staid and rough tone, a Stormwind accent unshielded. “I’ll hear your case, Revenor.”

She settles her breath and swallows just before digging in.  
“I got this impression of something in the air. Like…itching traces of death’s veneer. These textures are ones I’ve gleaned around varying corners of Northrend in prior weeks.”

He regards her with unmasked skepticism.  
“You’re implying that the Scourge is spying on us as of this second?”

“Affirmative, sir. I can’t declare with absolute clarity, of course, but my intuition has proved reliable every step of the way.”

As she is staunch in her opinion, he’ll have to confirm it.  
“Not a paladin myself, but I know we’ve got a bunch.” He turns and tracks two, which he points at. “You two, over here. Can you corroborate Sergeant Revenor’s story of detecting Scourge activity nearby?”

Another human man talks first in line.  
“Nothing out of the regular, sir.”

“Hmm”, utters the dwarven lady at his side. “Well, there was the wee prodding earlier. Like uh…an unease on the wind. Cannae identify any solid footprints though, I’m afraid, Captain.”

Ash is marginally downcast with their evaluations, that she is the solitary paladin with clear sight. What does this signify, though? That she’s peerless among her colleagues? Or is she losing her edge?  
“I know what I perceived, Captain. Perhaps it’s an illusion, but I maintain that it is sagely to, at minimum, err on the side of caution, maybe enact some preservation measures. One should not take chances up here.”

Briggton exhales subtly from his nose, limiting the exposure of his thoughts.  
“What would you have me do? Retreat to Dragonblight?”

“No. That would be a patently clumsy solution to this impasse, but there’s more than one branch to utilize.  
I suggest hooking the long way around our intended heading, taking the indirect road to the base. The only matter we stand to lose is time, reasonably some rations.”

“Mm, I’m with you on the discreet method, but we can’t dawdle behind. We’re going to get stuck in the ditch somewhere along and devoured by the storm. Hastening our speed is still the best decision.”

At this crossroad, Ash is quietly catching whiffs of an old impulse, of the overthrown Ashindra. Old Ash would foster a defiant conduct, be at cross purposes with the Captain and plausibly dispute him publicly. But old Ash didn’t make the trip out of Quel’Thalas, of past epochs.  
She adjusts the slouch of her body and salutes him smartly.  
“Aye, Captain.”

She readies herself to resume her place in the procession, but then one of the other sin’dorei – a ranger – wriggles her ears keenly.  
“Incoming! North!”, the elf bellows and everyone lays their gazes to the mists further up, only to take in the daunting view that washes down – a rain of arrows sailing from the heavens.

Plenty of the crusaders have no recourse past simply staring in boundless misery at the row of death, but they are fortunate to have a gifted priest in their midst. Melia dashes into the center and elevates her hands.  
“Light, shield us!”

In the nick of time, she erects a Light-infused barrier, which is enhanced by two more priests in pure panic. With the contributions, Melia manages to stretch it to span the full Crusade roster, the notched and somewhat crooked projectiles slamming and bouncing off its glittering hull. Only one wave of approximately three dozen arrows impact the aegis.

Briggton takes a breath of undiluted relief in private, as to not weigh down his subordinates, prior to looking at Melia.  
“Quick thinking, Lieutenant, well done. But we’re not out of the darkwood yet.  
Archers, nock your arrows and set up stations! Spellcaster, say your incantations and let it soar! Melee units, sharpen your weapons! Shieldbearers, form up on me – we’re keeping the line hardened for the troops. Get moving!”

A looming racket perforates the dense mist, the rhythmic rattling and trembling of bones, ailing moans, and the squeaking of rusted metal on metal, as the Scourge division marches. Hundreds of them, all arranged in impregnable lanes that stream in, breathing plague and infestations.  
Adherents of the living beliefs of Azeroth, along with the Forsaken, strife with the first detachment of hostile undead, a match up they’re still acclimatizing to. But while they totally down this column and incur minimal casualties, it’s far from over. Soon, soldiers call out for reinforcements from not merely the south, but also east.

To top it off, an influx of exquisitely hardy bunch of elite undead spill in from the western flank, effectively hemming them into an irreversible confrontation. Ash had really hit the bull’s eye, albeit she woefully wishes she had miscalculated.  
With aught to grasp, Briggton barks over his shoulder.  
“Revenor! You’re on west point! Hold ‘em off and we’ll hack us a way out!”

“Yes sir! Fourth and sixth squad, on me!”  
She beseeches the Light for its strength and imbues her sword with its incandescence. Akin to a leading torch, she pounds into a heap of undead and unloads a torrent of bristling might that annihilates, nearly incinerating a trio of Scourge. She follows this up with shattering the skull of a skeleton with the tug of her shield and hammers the chest of a ghoul to the snow with her robust plate boot.  
“The Light will not grovel to the Lich King’s filth! _For Azeroth!”_

Her prowess and exuding willpower kindles faith and trust in her fellow soldiers, and they valiantly chase her, come torment or death.  
One noteworthy layer with this pack of undead is how many of them seem to be graced in a higher tier of gear. Some of their pieces are vaguely suggestive of Crusade apparels. Scavenged to play off on the organization, or could this be engorged corpses of their former brethren?  
By her side perches Braktog, winding up as her adjunct and bound damage dealer. Given the opportunity, she paints herself into a target, amasses their aim and facilities Braktog’ flying onslaught from a weak fork with his axe, cleaving them in twain.

Eventually, they get sidetracked and mildly fractured, as one marked individual clobbers onto Ash, coercing her into an impermanent duel between them.  
Her adversary wields a shield of an equivalent measure as her own, though it’s flatter than the spikes hers sport. A ponderous axe is situated in the meaty hand, and this creature is clearly shorter. A dwarf, based on the thickset physique. His attacks are spacious and heavy, but Ash is too nimble to be trapped, paired with her own superb use of the shield to not just block but deflect damage, letting it brush off her.  
Counterattacks are somewhat of her forte, which she exploits to rig a spell in her grasp or body and unleash at instants where her foe botches her slashes. Less fortunate is how the dwarf is on par with her, more than capable to measure up.

To her chagrin, the truth is leagues more unconscionable. As the dwarf rebuffs the first strike in a series, Ash and him alike go in for a close-knit dust-up, which disrupts the headway of either. They end up with their shields jammed together and their weapons convening and grinding at the blades. The dwarf presses his face next to hers, stopping short of physical contact.  
“Ain’t lost yer touch yet, eh lassie?”, the raspy, stifled throat expels.

Ash’s eyes fly open in heartrending shock. What in all the sun’s mercy? How could she not have noticed this previously? How could have missed the tattered tabard?  
“C…Captain Gryndar?”

The tarnished, undead dwarf stares at her with hollow, lifeless, apathetic eyes. He doesn’t grin, doesn’t quiver with deviousness, nothing but a fallow rift.  
“Life can be a dirty ersehole, aye?”

There can be no single shred of doubt that the man lodged before her carry a terrifying similarity to the Captain they were bereaved of, but she can’t avow it’s him through and through. She has never actually allotted it a ton of thought, whether the soul of an undead being lingers. Even in the nightmarish weeks where Quel’Thalas was sundered, she did never gain substantial answers.  
But there’s the Forsaken. They are undead too and they’ve displayed every sign of retaining their personality and heart. Can the same be said for those in thralldom to the Lich King then?

There is no room for alleging that death has gone soft on Gryndar. His skin is rotten and infested, even beyond the lost color and vigor in his eyes, and there’s a foul biting stench all over. Ash does feel guilty after a fashion, for even carrying such judgments about this man. This same rut of bias is one that her Forsaken allies have to suffer daily and yet they do all they can to protect everyone in and out of the Crusade regardless. She must teach herself to dispense with such skewed ideas.

The solution to the sheer concept is enough to unhinge Ash and in doing so, it gives Gryndar an opening. He can’t mark a decent course to kill Ash off in a flash, but he can tilt the odds. With the paladin trapped in a stark state of shock, Gryndar seizes the juncture to push her off. He then swirls his axe around in preparation and steers it towards one who shows his back – Braktog.

Ash barely has time to register the events that will transpire and all she’s able to disburse is to utter a vehement, “no!”, before the weapon is lobbed and plants itself with the sharp edge into the orc’s body.  
What miniscule sliver they can be thankful for is that it goes wide of the spinal cord. Sadly, this does flourish a trump card for a skeleton that now slashes right across the poor man’s chest and he loses his balance.

Horror all but consumes Ash, as she comes to realize that her mistake just got her ally, a soldier under her command, injured or possibly worse.  
“Braktog! No!”, she yells, though she has no decent vista to distinguish his welfare.

With vendetta on the mind, Ash rises and toggles into full throttle at the undead Captain. Her teeth grits and she gears her mind to finish this charade. The wind is completely sucked from her sails, however, as an oblique diagonal strike knocks her. A shadow, like a piercing wraith, practically comes into being in front of her and levels a foot into her belly, booting her with such pressure that she tumbles backwards, in part as it was so monumentally unseen.

She staggers to the ground, harshly and contracts quite an acute coughing once air resurfaces in her lungs. As she wipes the saliva from her lips, her gaze slowly travels up, recognizing the attire of this…entity.  
“Well well”, he says, voice reeking with spite, “the savory morsel that eluded my appetite makes a return visit. Fortunately, you are in our territory now.”

The san’layn she fought with outside Wyrmrest. What has brought him here?  
In her fall, Ash lost her sword, but it is still reclined in her general vicinity, should she wish to retrieve it and retaliate. That being said, what’s critical here is to not lose sight of him. One misstep and he’ll gorge her, literally.  
“I should’ve seen this coming, that a contemptible cur like you was behind this.”

A malicious chuckle leaves his mouth.  
“Such delicious aggression. Your blood will be well and simmering when it’s feeding time. Since we did skip greetings on our last encounter, allow me to reconcile – Lord Veysir, underling to Prince Acranius of the August Corona Citadel.”

“I couldn’t care less what your arbitrary titles and ranks are.” She casts herself up on her feet anew. “Are you responsible for this travesty?”, she poses and nods at Gryndar.

“With a little sprinkling of magic from our master, yes. Are they not the picture of splendor? Submit and this majesty can be yours to relish.”

She huffs mockingly.  
“Over your dead body.”

“Hmph. How droll.”

He hitches his hand to discharge a deluge of putrid magic in her direction, but as opposed to the miscalculations at the foot of the dragons’ tower, Ash blocks the spell with her shield, enchanted by Light’s resilience. Having no mind for sitting idle, she trots on, proceeding until she’s right above the ground where Vem’tavir roosts. But as she tears it from the frozen soil and straps in for a new coming of blows, Veysir is gone. Did he run off? She refuses to believe he would be dispirited by her so conveniently.

Though Ash is psyched up to the max, her heart pounding like she just sprinted for miles on end, a bell clings in her head as she recalls the peril Braktog was in. She’s scarcely in time to observe as Gryndar stows his pace above the prone orc and stomps on his chest, making him cough up blood. The deceased Captain is going to execute the Private and it’s outside of Ash’s control from this range. She could energize a spell, but she’ll never get ahead of Gryndar’s strike.

Luckily, she is not the lone member on the battlefield who has unraveled these events. From a deviating end, a lustrous streak of holy fire inflicts Gryndar’s top half. The crux of this power fries part of the dwarf’s tainted flesh, enough to stun him and lose the footing on the orc. In its wake, Captain Briggton himself springs into and tackles Gryndar away, providing space for Melia – the root of the fire – to harness the Light’s rejuvenating principles and stitch Braktog back together.

Regrettably, Gryndar did not hurtle down fully, and now that he’s salvaged the axe, they stand toe to toe. Briggton stares grimly at his counterpart.  
“What’s wrong, laddie? Lost yer nerve? Or is that just guilt starin’ in ye face, for causing this? Saw the same in Revenor.”

The Captain takes a deep breath.  
“I’m sorry”, is all he tells Gryndar, prior to charging, forcing the fallen Captain to reverse, at least for a quick phase. Their shields and weapons square off, creating a real racket, but it appears divergent elements of the Scourge holds contradicting perspectives of where this should progress.

A stack of skeletons, gargoyles and ghouls pour through to corner not just the Captain, but Melia and Braktog too. Ash was wrapping up a couple of clashes for her comrades, but now infers no option besides assisting them and she launches straight for this venue. Her sword, fueled by justice, rage and a tinge of desperation tears into every Scourge she meets, splitting them in half or batters them apart by the rugged spikes on her shield.

However, as she clears up a subset of the arena, she catches discord from the Lieutenant and Braktog. Greater numbers of enemies approach and Melia gets pressed to cease her healing in order to mount a Light shield to protect both her and the orc. She strives to perform two acts at once, but buffering and remedying require dissonant concentrations.

Here, Ash is faced with a tricky decision – cover Captain Briggton’s behind as he dukes it out with Gryndar and some extra gnats, or unchain Melia and Braktog. A selection she hoped never to make, but fate is rarely compassionate.  
When it all comes down to it, she obliges her heart. She scrambles to the Lieutenant’s borders and whales on the undead who have the gall to graze her superior. She unloads a nigh seismic stir of a consecration, blinding and blistering them from everywhere. Melia’s smile at the vision is one of alleviation and gratitude, immensely elated to have a faithful companion like the paladin.

“Thanks, Ash! Keep ‘em where you got ‘em, and I’ll put my mind on reviving the Private.”

“Is he going to make it?”

“Yeah, he’s hanging in there, but it’s by a hair’s breadth.”

A particularly big and mean rotter sets on Ash, but she outmaneuvers it by channeling all of her faith into her shield, forming a bulwark that gleams like the sun. As it reaches the pinnacle, she smashes the shield on the undead, chucking it meters adrift, as it is practically scorched from the purifying essence.  
“Concentrate everything you have on him. I’ll stave off these dreg.”

Granted that their deeds prevail on their end, Captain Briggton’s destiny weathers a profusely more calamitous and torturous climax, one that none of them foretell. His handiwork brings a multitude of mindless undead low, and at least transiently heads off Gryndar, but his intuition does not unlock the purview of the entire topography.  
In an unannounced vein, he is beleaguered from two angles – Gryndar from up front and Veysir swooping in on the tail. The san’layn leaves the dwarf to keep the Captain busy until the pivotal moment. Then, disaster.

As they cross the line, Veysir draws out claws from his fingertips and stabs them into recesses of Briggton’s armor, the skin surrounding the waist and lower back. As the human gasps in anguish and arches, Veysir bares fangs that seems to glisten and plunges into savory flesh of his neck. Veysir drains the Captains’ lifeforce readily and delightfully, which coincides with Gryndar’s choice to disarm his old ally.

Melia can only draw in breath and gape hauntedly. Though Ash yens to save him, at this moment, as they’re swimming in Scourge pawns, it looks bleak.  
Ultimately, Captain Lionel Briggton is not long for this world and succumbs to the crippling might of Lord Veysir. As his partially shriveled body thuds to the ground, many of the crusaders witness and lose heart.

Once again, Melia finds her feet stranded in a quagmire of impossible terms and herself as the shot-caller, where the intended leader, a man she admired, has met an ill-fated finish. In this scenario, as defeatist as it may come off, the odds of even escaping are not stacked in their favor. Ash equally acknowledges this misfortune internally, although her mentality ardently shoots down the concept. She will not bow to evil this day.

“Crusaders, snap out of it!”, Melia shouts from her seat next to an unconscious Braktog. “Get out of your trance and amass in the center! If we’re gonna break off, we have to synchronize!”

With the trio slightly off on their own, Veysir smirks and departs from Briggton’s corpse to come up at them. Intrinsically, Gryndar accompanies him. There is no will involved, only the Lich King’s voice.  
“Ah, yes, the tenacious and audacious Lieutenant Haven. How splendid that we should happen upon each other on a fine day like this. We were overdue for it, no?”

Melia’s scowl is almost set aflame.  
“Yeah, I’m sure it was wholly coincidental, huh? Sorry that I don’t recall your name. Guess I don’t commit the particulars of pure garbage to memory.”

Veysir tilts his head and laughs, but the dry spirit of it and the fact that he clenches one hand symbolizes less than humor. Nice to know she can get under the skin of Scourge fools too.  
“The insolence, the pizzazz! Your mettle is positively invigorating, Lieutenant. Absolutely futile of course, but I do enjoy when my prey squirms. I imagine that I shall keep you alive for more of an extended period than the waste of space I leeched dry just now. Truly revel in your sorrow.”

Melia, even if she externally clings to her fervor, does glance at Briggton in passing. He did not merit a grisly end of this nature. He earned a hero’s death.  
“I won’t give you the satisfaction, not for a second.”

“All dogs bark in the early stages. You will bend with time. Gryndar – send in the abomination.”

“Right away, my lord”, Gryndar responds and then sounds off. _“Out with the abominations! Level these vermin and make them bow to the Lich King!”_

In the distance, they hear more rumbling and huge, clanging, rippling and bustling abominations come lumbering, at least a whole dozen. Some of them are larger than the regular type. On top of a few bodies, solid metal plates have been grafted and they all grasp multiple weapons that would be two-handed for normal humanoids. Ash and Melia have yet to lose all hope in this mess, but they can’t deny how it’s waning.

This really is it. If they cannot break free in this round, there may very well not be another. Melia can now authenticate that Braktog is ostensibly going to live, but the question that floats to the top is, for how long? Have her efforts been fully in vain?  
For a light interval, the wind abates to a noticeable degree, the rumbling of the fight decreases and their vision past the snow clarifies. They all incur the vibe that this is death welcoming them with its cold extremities, that the grave is their next stop. But then they hear it.

A horn. A deep, booming, resounding horn slices the tumult and cacophony of battle, out in the depths of the mists. Temporarily, the Scourge and the Crusade stall their thrashing, as their eyes are reflexively drawn to the sound. Seconds pass, a season of jarring wait and unspoken worry. Did they in truth overhear the reverberation or was this an eerie instance of symbiotic hallucinations?

A staunch, governing voice perforates the haze.  
“The Scourge going overkill for a minor package of Light zealots and naïve tagalongs. What will they ever do next?”

The sarcasm is uttered through the fount of a levelled tone, almost humorless. But it does carry a faint echo, which calls the attention to it, but that was presumably the intent.  
The speaker who exits the security of the vaporized snow is fairly tall, but not to any monstrous extents. Some might assert that the armor commits that job for her. Heavy-plated garnet red gear with bronze and obsidian highlights drape themselves over the figure of a toned individual. The shoulder pads, the belt, the gauntlets, and the head of the boots are all accessorized with the skull of beasts, some of them horned. To emulate the death of demons, perchance?

The helmet of the same color scheme fully covers the head, except for a thin elongated gap for the eyes. Inside blaze two icy, dirty blue orbs, staring at the gathered masses. The black and scarlet cloak flaps in rhythm with the wind.  
The foremost component of everything that she wears to quantify her integrity is the tabard resting over her torso – a dark, deep mulberry purple, holding an ebon-colored sword in the center, lined in blue.

Among their foes, Veysir is instantly familiar with it.  
“And what is this meant to be?” he spits tauntingly and uninspired. “One tiny little knight out here all alone? Is that all your paltry company could muster? I knew you were bold, but not brainless.”

She keeps them waiting for a few more excruciating seconds, until she resumes her striding pace, right towards them, not batting an eye. The weight in each step and her steadfastness has not dropped.  
“Not alone. Never alone.”

The statement hangs in the air, but only as a way to derail the awareness. In a timely manner, imminent groans and thuds fill their ears at the fringes of the Scourge contingent. Veysir and Gryndar turn in shock and bear witness to the happenings – a variety of similarly-adorned soldiers swing blades and strike with axes from the cover of the mist on every flank in ambush.

The new arrivals are rocking a wide scope of characters and proportions too, with a tauren, two kaldorei, four humans, two dwarves, a draenei, two orcs and a Darkspear troll. All of them sprint and rightfully lays into the Scourge. Some are working with dual weapons, others the substantial two-handed sorts. One or two cast spells to warp the minds of the bigger Scourge and overtake their mental faculties, as another, one of the humans, lifts his gauntlet and spews out black lightning that raps the ground and a platoon of corpses burst out from the earth to obey his command.

The vanguard, the clear marshal of the team, equals her speed to the tone of her voice, patient but ever progressing. With every meter gained, an aura is dispersed to the onlookers. As freezing as the air is, this knight is functionally embodying her own core of ice. Cold radiates from her body and the ground somehow solidifies in increased layers, below its already incredibly low temperatures. At this width, Ash is also able to discern a supplemental trait – the pale, pointed ears of a blood or high elf protrude from niches in the helmet. The way they’re closer vertically aligned is a tell. She is somewhat flabbergasted by the prospect.

As she nears, one of the Scourge-turned crusaders hustles at her, lifts his sword hand, swings it down…and is summarily cut short by the knight, who grabs it by the wrist. She gradually raises her head and stares straight up at the face of the rotten human, dead eyes into dead eyes. While her fingers clench, the human gapes in distress at how the ice released from her body overlaps his arm, growing exponentially to drown him.

Before he gets fully glazed, the knight employs her free hand to clutch and fetch the hilt of a greatsword that lingers on her back. A glimmering, starving, virtually vibrating runeblade is reared. He can but watch as she pivots the weapon in her fingers, inclines and then thrusts hard into his gut. The undead human unquestionably feels nothing, but his sense of touch is irrelevant as the knight disembowels him at the midpoint, rending it in pieces, letting both be dropped aside.  
Once she’s shed the husk from her hold, her velocity picks up and she pushes into the compressed gathering of beasts, undead and living fighters. The crusaders can identify the cold breeze lashing them, but her powers are utterly dedicated to wiping out her real focus.

One striking element to Ash is that this elven knight does not seem to cast any spells that would affect the other undead’s minds or in any way summon ghouls of her own. She delivers sword blows and floods of ice only.  
Her blade itself is a lethal vehicle of destruction, but in a moderately lyrical fashion. It next to sings with each thrust, like a dirge, a chord to their demises.

The first person aside from the minions she presses in on like an avalanche is Gryndar. They share no more than a passing glance, before she bears down on him. The dwarf hoists his shield to parry her blow, a collision that sends quivers and racket all across the field.  
“Think ye can rush in here and upset the balance, eh?”, he tells her in a strained tone.

She regards him briskly.  
“One of the crusaders? You are not the first to fall, but your end will be merciful.”

“End? Hah! I-“

He halts as she swivels and distributes a sideways slash, fast enough to stun him. She squeezes the hilt of her sword and it appears to shimmer briefly before she cuts across his shield, wreaking tremors via his body. She jumps up and kicks him square in the chest, letting him do everything short of toppling over. She then fixates the icy air into her grasp, which when aggregated to the preferred shift, is unleashed as a frosty gust that howls as it blasts him, nigh on freezing him in place.

In his floundering, he’s helpless to endure yet another brutal assault, one she is bound to administer. She digs her feet into the snow and propels herself forward, like a supercharged arrow. With the wailing chant of her runeblade, she curves the wide length of it all the way to his throat, entitling the starving edge to lop his head off cleanly. It soars from the sheer potency of the attack and hits the dirt many a second following the body. Captain Gryndar’s final death chimes the next period of the engagement, and without thinking twice, she pulls that chilly gaze resolutely at the san’layn. Veysir meets hers in equal measure.

To rival her, he mounts his hand up and by the force of magecraft, conjures a blade of his own, a corrupted longsword absorbing the blessings of the Scourge. Or curses, as it were.  
The elven knight absolutely rams into him, steaming like the engine of a dwarven siege machine, but the smoke erupting being far more frigid. Their blades shoving into each other ring with a metallic clink, which festers into a contested shriek.

Though he is a power to be reckoned with, it’s a simple matter for the knight to push him into defensive quarters. Not only physical armaments, but power hierarchies are going head to head. Veysir grits his teeth as he endeavors to suspend his perpetual retreating.  
“Begone, traitor. The sacks of blood here belong to me.”

Her frosty glare sticks onto his.  
“If you want them, you’ll have to go through me. Too bad mine is already a chunk of frozen icicles, hmm?”

She scatters his position by secreting an elevated spike of a relentless chilly vortex that incrementally expands and sincerely forces Veysir to shield his face and withdraw. Despite foiling her, she hounds his wake, at intervals pulsing at him and taking a swipe with her blade, which seems to hunger for her foe. If one looks strictly enough, the blade could strike one as literally spawning tremors.

But he is not without his own portfolio of concoctions that he sets into play to unsettle her. With tensions so high, he struggles to brandish one such now, as he seeks the shadows. His physical contour vanishes as he slides into the darkness from where he intends to launch his counterattack. The knight takes a crack at stalking him, but her blade carves nothing more than complete air. He’s a good deal more beguiling than the dwarf and putting him down will stipulate vigilance.

She adopts a spot of patience and rests, watching what he means to ply. It pays off, once she snaps up a predatory impression. A batch of slices and hacking maneuvers are disseminated from amidst the shades, as if the umbra itself gnaws at her.  
“You think you’ve got what it takes to challenge the san’layn?! You act above your station, worm!”

A valiant show to be sure, but to no avail. The knight is unfazed and unassailable, at least for this express being. Her runeblade is lifted and deflects every push, discarding their ferociousness as nothing but the byproduct of despair. Her conditioned abilities, her raw instincts are honed too distinctly to fall against skimpy beats like this. With this established, she concentrates on more integral tasks. She scans the field for an outlet, a rift in the storm.

She discovers her prey, a flicker in the light snowstorm that still harries them. As she perceives it, she throws out her hand. It is carried aloft and from the palm, crinkling black-violet energy coils around the gauntlet and upon her command, lunges astray. From afar, she grips the imperceptible organism, wringing him by his very essence and yanks him into the light.  
_“Come back here.”_

While he’s flung into her proximity, she simultaneously pounces at him and brings up her fist. Upon reaching contact and as Veysir is purely ballistic, the knight slugs him clean in the torso, crushing her plated appendage into his chest and flattens his body into the snow. He violently slams into the dirt and hisses in agony. He adapts to the pain and on short notice struggles to rise, but she kicks his shoulder, permitting his sword to fall out of his clasp and he tumbles away.

Now with no channels to liberty, the agony trounces him and activates a meltdown. He lies there flat on the white bed for seconds, beyond the time that would make it unwise for this duel. Just after his eyes open again, she is already standing by his side. He growls at her, but she treads on his chest, driving him back into the snow. Her touch on his skin, even nothing but the armor, transmits the chilled aura to encase him, ever so procedurally.

Her voice spews from beneath the helmet, but this time in thalassian.  
“Your mistake was not to oppose us, my fallen brother, but that you presumed the vile monster holding your leash would elevate you above us. We are not merely death incarnate, we gorge on it, like you digest the blood of the living. We thrive in desolation and none of your kind can match us.”

Veysir’s speech is decreasing in volume and resonance.  
“You…will fall, exactly like…everyone else. Our King is eternal.”

“Nothing in this world ever is. Your prince is next, but the King’s hour is impending.”  
She pulls her blade aloft and then harshly, but graciously, impales his chest, sapping the last vestiges of his vitality out of his dead body. As the lights expire, she kneels and closes his eyes.  
“Sleep and bask forever in the Eternal Sun”, she whispers in their mother tongue.

At the event of her rising, the battle in the environs is declining, owing to the massive offensive of the death knights. It is now open and shut that this act rescued at least a majority of the crusaders. Ash and Melia had their own separate skirmish to attend to, but once that they’re in the clear, they face the knight leader, who replicates the same act.  
“Trust me, they are better off this way”, she remarks in Common, with an indicative wave at the slews of slain undead crusaders. “They’re counting their gifts, wherever their souls drifted off to.”

The duo is awash with emotions and questions, on the fence where to respectfully commence. Melia ventures a go.  
“Well, we’re…in the same boat. Thanks, for everything. But also, uh…who are you? I recognize your allegiance, but…”

The knight beholds the human for a second or two, and then fleetingly peeks at the paladin.  
“And to think, of all the people I could encounter, providence chose you.”

Ash draws a blank, her ears jerking in puzzlement, getting the hunch that she has no sense of direction in this conversation.  
“…excuse me?”

The knight snorts and then gracefully unfastens her helmet. Below, she unveils a visage Ash is acquainted with. But…that’s unbelievable. All these years and not a peep. She couldn’t have…  
“Strike-Commander Shadespire of the Ebon Blade. And you must be the Argent Crusade. Apologies for our tardy arrival.”

She’s different, that much is plain. Her skin has taken a turn for the pale, unnaturally deathly so, cracked in place, and her auburn hair is marginally dwindled, but remains. Her eyes, while sharp as per usual, are now a bitter, frigid, bordering on dirty, blue and the glow is more thorough than it used to be. But her trademark headband is accounted for, as is the unyielding expression that brokers no quarter. Years now since their last encounter, but seems like a lifetime. Ash is virtually lightheaded. What would Rivaryn say?

“…Trienza? Ranger-Captain Sah’nir?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Okay, I'm going to be completely honest - Trienza was in actuality the real reason for the name of this fic. This was always going to be the one where I revealed her (though her initial appearance was meant to be a bit later), but then the last rendition of this story got bogged down in elements I wasn't too keen on, so I had to rewrite it and then Ash plopped in and...yeah. But she's here now._   
>  _Trienza wasn't in the original version of the name list at the top, because I wanted it to be a surprise, although one of you readers did kind of predict it in a comment months ago. A couple of months after that, because I was bored, I also wrote her DK origin story -[Veins of the North](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15684798) \- which you can read if you want to. Her profile and a screenshot can also be found in that link at the top of the story. Trienza will definitely appear in several more chapters of this fic._
> 
> _My preferred theme for Trienza tends to fluctuate between[Gwyn's theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AB6sOhQan9Y) from Dark Souls (not really a fan of the series, I just love the song and its overtones) and [Black Blade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z28lwyQjuTY) by Two Steps From Hell. Both are quite applicable to her._


	39. City of twin destinies

A flying city. Thariss and Rivaryn have between them an ample supply of ordeals, episodes and encounters, experiences that range ages of joy, suffering, marvel, grandeur and transgressions of unspeakable magnitudes. But they can both honestly testify that a sight capable of levitation on this scale, of real palpable flight, is not a phenomenon they’ve ever previously beheld. A few items, perhaps, singular constructions. But fully-fledged cities? Inscrutable.

And yet here it is – Dalaran, whole again. The majestic purple city-state of sorcery, the hotspot for many a magic seeker and student, and second solely to Quel’Thalas as the heart and soul of Azeroth’s arcane pool.  
Riv can’t rightfully profess that she ever had any substantial relationship with it. She has experienced the streets of it but once, during the Second war, as the battlefields diverted the first Alliance to this realm when it was burrowed in Lordaeron. Nevertheless, it was entailed in her network of geographical knowledge, of places that she could technically venture to, on her leisure. The Third war and the Scourge’s squashing might nullified such notions.

Raxeen is debatably the one figure in their midst not supremely captivated by the spectacle, but she carries no pretentious elitism that she is somehow above the tableau. No, the thought of an aerial city is merely one she is conditioned to, on the fact that she grew up in the same manner of complex. Better yet, one that traversed dimensions. She has witnessed visions and landscapes which eclipse some of their most colorful fantasies.

Dalaran is nothing to sneeze at, though; a city with its own splendor and dazzling overlooks and visuals. In some capacities, the profile of it furnishes Riv with callbacks to her home city. Like the capital of magery, Silvermoon was often legendary as a metropolis of mystical towers, of heights and an outreached grasp for the brilliance of the stars that it could never annex.

The major contrast obviously lies in the colors and the banners, as well as the artistry. Riv would not label herself as a patriot, but Dalaran is not as bright to her as Silvermoon was in its heyday. That said, what the heterogenous Order has achieved here does stand as a monument to the unwavering nature of Azeroth’s mortals, that irrespective of formidable foes and unsafe environments, they will defy every dimension, every rein, to persevere.

What inspired the trio and their pets to make this trip to start with was incidentally related to Riv’s past and present – her sister had posted a letter, which reached them as they located a more tenable refuge.  
Their sojourn to Amberpine lasted no more than a day or two, where they split up with Aruunel and Bekkit, to embark from the zone altogether. They’d had plenty of the cursed hills by then, where the shadows perpetually created impressions of being spied at. They refused to end up in the same nightmare scene as the Section Three squad.

Upon reentering Dragonblight and Wyrmrest, they were informed that a missive had arrived from Kassari, who invited them as her personal guests to Dalaran. She had news, but could not impart it by letter, for fear of prying gazes.  
To accommodate their mounts, they elected to trek by the ground route, in spite of Kass urging them to enlist seats on a couple of hippogryphs. It would not have been suitable to stick Razz, Ilca and Rax’s saber on a bird like that and she won’t even muse on the prospect of ditching the raptor anywhere.

After pushing their way through Crystalsong – an extraordinary and enchanted place in and of itself – they went with the route towards the secured and sealed off arcane bubble beneath the city. A teleporter and a handler were standing in wait, as ‘Ambassador Silvershroud’ had sent word of their visit. In the wake of a cursory inspection, they are collectively transferred right up to the surface. As they materialize and the initial haze of light dissolves, their eyes greet two personalities.

Kass is idling as their figures emerge, with her precious Khroga in reach. The mage flashes an affectionate smile at the sight of her sister. Trying to curtail her effusiveness helps only superficially, as she still has a bolt in her step.  
Notably, the both of them are decked out in more fanciful garbs than on their last engagement. Kass is wearing a new set of scarlet robes with golden linings and ornaments. On her shoulders rest cosmetic golden wings, resembling those often perceived on the banners of Quel’Thalas. Khroga is dressed up too, in a darker red with black attendant formations and a symbol of the Horde on her chest. She also boasts fur on her sleeves and as a belt. The duo captures the picture of officials, like emissaries.

Kass bails from her girlfriend’s company and nearly pounces on Riv to hug her.  
“Rivaryn! Oh, I’m so delighted you’re finally here! I was so glad when we caught wind of your consent, but you did have me fairly concerned. Your response took a while.”

To ease her anxiety, Riv replicates her smile and pulls back a tinge, to study her little sister, but still with her hands locked at the younger elf’s waist.  
“Don’t be. We were simply preoccupied with some light freelance work. Took us a few days to get back to the dragons’ lair and catch up with ongoing events.”

“Ah yes, we heard there was something afoot in the temple. You know, I just about felt my heart skip a beat at the thought, for it hit me that you would be roaming the area.”

“Heh. Well, you got keyed up for nothing, then. On that day, we swooped in and saved the entire show. Saviors, as it were.”

“Yeah, don’t get your knickers in a twist, fussbird”, Thariss tells her as she trots up and plants a hand squarely at her girlfriend’s shoulder, her armor clattering as she goes. “I was on hand to protect her all along. She was as safe as safe can be.”

Riv chuckles at her girlfriend’s heroic blustering and slants her head onto the night elf’s torso, but Kass points an exquisitely more skeptical glance.  
“Somehow, I suspect you inflated the hardships for her.”

Even though she’s cognizant of her own innocence, Thariss can’t help but exacerbate the tension by smirking challengingly.  
“Who, me? Whaaat? That’s crazy talk! Tell her, babe.”

It’s not that Riv is of the belief that Thariss has earned some scrutiny, but if her lover can play, then so can she.  
“Well…she didn’t out-and-out misfire.”

Thariss, remaining in a state of mischief, just arches her brow with a mild sense of doubt.  
“…’scuse me?”

“Remember the demons in Kharanos?”

Thariss gains a faraway stare, aiming it out into nowhere.  
“Eh…I had that one under control.  
…mostly.”

“Or the attack on Quel’Danas?”

“Got a lil’ red hot, but you weren’t in any serious threat.”

“Plus, you leapt off our ride at Wyrmrest.”

Thariss raises her arms in protest.  
“Oh, gimme a break! I had to make an entrance!”

Kass exhales haggardly.  
“I’m starting to speculate whether you do this wittingly.”

“What, grinding your gears or kicking up shit?”

The mage wrinkles her brow.  
“…does it have to be a choice?”

Thariss aborts her own streak of defensive procedures by laughing. As a result, she hops on over to Khroga, shakes the orc’s hand and pats her shoulder.  
“Hey, Steel! How ya holding up, huh? Mage central not getting to you already?”

Khroga merrily reciprocates on the pleasantries, but is visibly mystified by the latter.  
“Should it?”

The warrior shrugs halfheartedly.  
“Would for me. All this arcane goin’ off, magical knickknacks floating about, the smells past every corner…it’s weird.”

It would seem she does hit home in one way or another, for Khroga scratches the exposed parts of her well-built left arm pensively.  
“Hmm. Well, can’t argue with that.” Something, a short flashback perhaps, makes her grimace a tad. “Still settling my nerves around spontaneous spells cracking open all over the streets.”

Thariss emits a dejected sigh and squeezes her nose.  
“Welp, that’ll be…a treat. Thanks for the heads-up.”

In the intervening time, Kass approaches the third member of the team, extending a hand to her, which the draenei secures in a smooth grasp.  
“Raxeen, it’s a pleasure to have you with us here too. I pray that my sister and her rampaging girlfriend has not incited too much trouble with their hysterical lifestyles for you.”

“…we’re right here, Kass”, objects Riv.

Fortunately, Rax laughs calmly and shakes Kass’ hand in an affable fashion.  
“There are periods of strife and distress, but my journey with them has comprised no more hectic bursts than how my former routine was structured. Well, maybe a little more living on the edge.”

With the introductions out of the way, Riv slides a hand onto her sister’s shoulder, to draw her attention.  
“So, mind telling us why you invited us here at all, Kass? Don’t you have a Nexus War to contain? Or was it already settled after we took off?”

The younger sin’dorei absentmindedly grabs Riv’s hand to let their fingers be entwined instead and then marginally sways her head.  
“No, that havoc has yet to run its course, but with the infiltration program underway, we were coerced to…revise our targets.”

“What? How come?”

Kass sighs, averting her eyes, but she can’t conceal the agitated flutter of her left ear.  
“I penned a report to my superiors, where I appealed to them with respect to the struggles at hand that I should assume a direct role in expediting the blues’ ultimate surrender. They…disagreed. Khroga made a few passes at signing up on her own, but I headed all of them off.” The orc just clears her throat and awkwardly brushes her own neck.  
“With lack of reliable sustained communication, their message talked me into venturing here, for the sake of tactfulness and partnership.” She aligns herself to watch them anew and adjusts her back with a sense of debonair. “I am here as a representative of the Magister Order, albeit…not the first to be ordained with such a rank. Specifically, I am to bargain, advise and compromise in terms of the Nexus War.”

“So, the war is still on?”, asks Thariss.

In lieu of an answer, Kass motions for them to follow. In the process, she drifts over to Khroga, to wrap her arms around one of the orc’s. They wander side by side out of the teleport reception building, up on the paved streets of Dalaran, where far more people amble along and the whole settlements appear to gleam and glisten. On the brinks of the route, Kirin Tor guards familiar with ambassador nods in brief greeting and a few waves are distributed here and there from ordinary citizens, regardless of race.

“The war is indeed yet astir”, she reveals eventually, “though the procedure for it has reined in. The infiltration of Coldarra and the word going around that we’d prevailed with sabotaging operations, obligated a great degree of blues to fall back.”

Thariss, who now saunters just behind Riv, lifts her arms confidently behind her head.  
“Heh. All according to plan, eh?”

“Well, the actual plot we were formulating had the recipe for Malygos’ downfall on the list, but on that subject, we have had to postpone and reassess.”

“What of you, Khroga?”, wonders Riv curiously. “My sister is some…emissary now, it looks like. Were you granted the same honor?”

“Sort of”, the orc replies. “Hasn’t changed much since previous installments – I’m still formally stitched to Kassari as her guard and aide. It’s an arrangement I can live with.  
But piggybacking on this, I now also stand, like…a proxy for the Horde in this mission.”

“Won’t they catch the drift sooner or later, though?”

Kass and Khroga pivot eyes towards one another. The elf blushes modestly, while the orc curves her lips and caresses Kass’ cheek.  
“Heh, don’t reckon they will or that there’ll be a big mess. Strictly speaking, your gesh’og and I are going at this in a gainful vein, so they can’t fire either for costing the Horde valuable funds.”

Departing from her sister’s perspective, Riv actually hoists a smile at the image of these two showing tenderness for one another.  
“Hmm. My baby sister is an exterior agent of the Magisters now, is she? I…earnestly don’t know how to respond to the idea that you’ve become so…”

“High with power?”, Thariss intercedes.

“…I was going with ‘eminent’.”

“Meh. Same shit.”  
Kass is ripped out of her bliss to frown at the night elf, prompting Thariss to snicker.  
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to grate on ya or anything, bird.”

“Too late for that, isn’t there?”, Kass shoots back. “And I am no youngster, Rivaryn, nor am I a ‘bird’.”

The warrior’s laugh rises in volume.  
“Aww, c’mooon. Just a lil’ light riffing.” She plants a hand to ruffle Kass’ hair a pinch. “You know I appreciate you. You’re a big deal now – flying with the other phoenixes.”

It summarily dawns on Kass where the moniker stems from now, though she isn’t super into it.  
“Hmm…I suppose”, she mutters.

“How ‘bout I buy dinner for us all to make up for this bust?”

“…it occurs to you that, as ambassadors, Khroga and I eat for free, yes? As do my guests?”

Ostensibly, it had not, hence Thariss now scratching her jawline in rumination.  
“Huh. What about dessert? Drinks?”

Kass opens her mouth to disregard her ‘generous’ offer, but then suspends and trades it for a separate response.  
“…if you can find a slice of Tirisfal mild and a barrel of Blackrock ale, we could have a deal.”

Thariss scrunches her face up bemusedly and gives it a think.  
“Hmm. Well, cheese peddling ain’t my greatest talent and I dunno about all that being-…“ She comes to a standstill and veers her gaze somewhat flabbergasted at Kass.  
“Hang on. You actually drink that stuff?”

The mage keeps her secrets and points down another road.  
“Here, this way. We won’t visit the Violet Citadel anytime today.”  
As she strides along, she also tries to pick up a secondary topic.  
“Have any of you ever set foot in Dal-…” She puts herself on hold, reflects on the phrasing of the inquiry and then restarts.  
“On second thought, I take it that Raxeen and Thariss are unlikely to have passed by here in the past.”

“Uh, yeah”, the warrior attests. “Dunno if we framed it last time, but teaming up with Riv in the Eastern Kingdoms last year was like, my first ride.”

“And I have inhabited this world for barely a year at that”, explains Rax. “It does bestow its onlookers with a striking illustration, however.”

Kass nods unhurriedly.  
“It is a fine settlement, I will abide. Dalaran was originally a human-only city-state, a theater for their wizards and sorcerers to assemble, oversee and cultivate their skills with the arcane, away from the condemning glimpses of non-magic users.”

Rax stares at her nonplussed.  
“Condemning? Humans spurn the arcane?”

“Mm, in a sense. Humans in that era, like the kaldorei, were skeptical and draconian, as far as magic was concerned.”

“Uh…well, I wonder why, eh?”, Thariss utters pointedly.

Kass rolls her eyes in an unimpressed manner.  
“Yes, yes, there were grounds to why, and the same was applied to these formative casters.”

“You shrug that off like a piece of piss. Can’t have anything to do with the fact that the arcane _did_ almost rip a hole in the core of Azeroth and drown us all in demon shit, can it?”

Naturally, the Arcanist takes exception to that and holds up a precarious finger.  
“Now, stop right there. The arcane was _utilized_ for a nefarious intent, yes, but it was not the _cause_ of the Sundering. The implicit culprit was the people behind the rituals.”

“The Highborne, you mean.”

For a second, Kass exhibits a flash of indetermination, prior to recuperating.  
“That’s…not-“

But Thariss has no desire to point fingers and raises her hands.  
“I know, I know. Not all of ‘em. And no, I’m not saying the sin'dorei are complicit. Wouldn’t be sleeping with one if I did.”

They hear a sigh from the hunter, but Kass clears her throat to loop back around.  
“…at any rate, when the humans bumbled into trouble, they of course contacted the elves, the quel’dorei that had mastered the art of magic use for generations by then and scurried for aid. After months of deliberations, our people established a functional, though erratic, relationship with the human leadership of the city. Subsequently, while primarily human, Dalaran was to be co-ruled by the quel’dorei, with memberships of gnomes, dwarves and goblins years down the line.”

“Then uh, the humans make no biggie over the sin’dorei?”

Kass skips a beat and then breathes from her nose.  
“Well…in all fairness, I believe that falls on who you choose to solicit. Dalaran – omitting all the neutral zones – has one quadrant each dedicated to the Horde and the Alliance. More concretely, they are portrayed by the Sunreavers and the Silver Covenant respectively.”

Being somewhat perplexed, Riv blinks.  
“…who? I…don’t recognize either name.”

“Erm, yeah, same here”, admits Thariss.

“Nor do I”, Rax says, in line with her companions.

Kass huffs in a displeased manner, though not funneled at the team.  
“No, I don’t imagine you would, for both are relatively modern fabrications.  
The Sunreavers consist of sin’dorei, many of them former residents of the city or Kirin Tor students with a propensity to repopulate it. The…Silver Covenant is a contingent of quel’dorei, aligned with the Alliance, who contravene them.”

Riv’s befuddlement gains momentum and she widens her eyes.  
“…w-what? I must’ve…missed a letter or two. When did the quel’dorei actively begin to fight their own brethren? I had overheard references of disputes, but…”

The discussion compels Kass’ frown to reappear and deepen, as she crosses her arms, though her anger is aimed at a singular target – the destination with flapping Alliance banners.  
“It may be out of spite or prejudice, it’s unclear. You see, the Silver Covenant is of the impression that the Horde has no place and no right to stay in Dalaran, that we’re fundamentally riddled with pitfalls and the Sunreavers are borderline Alliance traitors.”

All of her disclosures funds Riv with higher influxes of shock.  
“Alliance…traitors? Is this genuine? We left that coalition years ago, even before the Scourge.”

Kass’ voice now gets louder.  
“Right you are! And when we pleaded for support after the abomination of a contemptible human prince and his zealots _slaughtered_ our people, what did they do? The humans took advantage of us, manipulated the survivors for their own gain! We did not _betray_ the Alliance, the Alliance _abandoned us!_ ”  
The others, Riv included, are a smidgen startled by her rebuke, and a few inhabitants in the vicinity throw stunned glances at her, which she notes imminently and aspires to rectify.  
“…forgive me. I didn’t mean to…yell.”

“Ah, it’s okay”, Thariss assures her. “You’ve definitely earned the right to be mad, on account of what you guys suffered.”

Riv, with a troubled gaze and a hand stroking her forehead, looks a bit overtaken with it all.  
“I feel…outright jumbled. Why would our own kin go this far? Quarreling and feuding with one another only leads to increased misery for our people as a whole. They have to see that.”

In exchange, Kass shrugs.  
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, you left too.”

The hunter’s expression and ears droop guiltily.  
“…that’s…true, but I didn’t do so out of hate for you or anyone. I simply didn’t…concur with what had transpired. I’m not an Alliance goon.”

“Not saying I’m one, but some could disagree”, Khroga suggests.

Thariss props up her hands.  
“What, cuz of me? I’m no Alliance mainstay. Never said the kaldorei should join ‘em anyway.”

“I know, Dusksong, but elements in the Horde view all night elves as Alliance lackeys.”

Riv unnervingly massages her own nose.  
“And these…Silver Covenant consider all sin’dorei to be Horde sycophants.”

Now it’s Kass who becomes unsatisfied, but not chastising.  
“That…is an apt sketch of our situation, yes.  
Excuse my earlier outbreak. We did not summon your team to quibble. Your point was relevant, though, Riv – the sin’dorei and the quel’dorei should be in union, we should rally to stem the existential calamities breathing down our necks. It does make me question whether the quel’dorei are enchanted with doom, for they’ve declared that they’ll never accept us until we swing Alliance flags on Silvermoon’s rooftops once more.”

It’s no surprise when Riv looks truly disheartened by the news.  
“This is so…sad. After all we lost, all we were subjected to…”

In her grief, Thariss ascends as a beacon of relief. She reaches out and takes her lover’s hand, pulling her in.  
“Hey, come here. Don’t wash yourself with this stuff. You’re gonna get flooded.”

Riv breathes out through her nose glumly and tilts her head into Thariss, finding it delicately consoling, which boosts her.  
“That’s fair, but…  
I may have grown disillusioned with what befell our society, but I can’t gloss over the conceit that this is grounded in a fear of what _I_ could have turned into during the war. What if it’s the same for these Silver Covenant? For me, the Sunwell’s rebirth took some of the pressure off that torment and stress. I do still love Quel’Thalas and its people.” She settles on her sister and holds out her hand, an act that Kass does not fail to copy. “And my newfound bond with you is near and dear to me. I would trade it for nothing. For the quel’dorei to erase all we’ve ever accomplished and went through…”  
She bites at her lower lip, conferring a limited survey of the Alliance end of the city.  
“Did the reunion at Quel’Danas not matter at all?”

“Oh, I trust that it did”, remarks Kass, “but not enough to sidestep every single grievance. They still despise the Horde, for what they committed in the Second war.”

“But…” Riv wavers, squeezing Thariss hand as she tries to discern how to interpret it all.  
“I know that I enlisted with them in the Second war-“

“You mean you were _commanded_ to, by Captain Sah’nir.”

“As she was ordered as well, yes”, Riv corrects. “And I acknowledge that I did and that I respected them, but…the Alliance has only pressed us for more since that era. But regardless of the circumstances, why does their eagerness to side with humans supersede their own community, their own nation?”

Kass has no answers, nothing but a dismayed shrug.  
“You tell me. I’m sorry, Riv, but that’s an inquiry best maneuvered at the Silver Covenant, not me.”

With her hand lingering on Kass’, she clutches it with an empathic undertone.  
“It must be rough, contending with these forms of affairs.”

The mage exhales, expandingly beaten down.  
“I confess it’s a sour climate at every occasion we convene, but I cope with it. Luckily, I have Khroga to bolster me. Without her, this crucible would be ten times worse.”

Gladdened by the credit, Khroga pulls her hand down to Kass’ free one, lifting it to brush it with her lips.  
“While I’m around, I’ll always reinforce you, zak’tro.”

Kass’ smile makes a comeback, as she’s engulfed in adoration.  
“You’re too good to me sometimes.”

“No such thing.”

The mage relinquishes her hand from Riv and delays her pace to coil her arms along Khroga’s waist, with the shaman dipping her head down to entangle them in a tender, yet voluminous kiss.  
Afterwards, Rax rewinds.  
“Unless I am mistaken, I do not believe you have quite elucidated why you called for us, miss Kassari. There is no assistance we can render regarding the discourse on the war, is there?”

Having gone off the beaten path, Kass flinches with moderate embarrassment.  
“Oh, of course! My apologies. And no, not exactly. But I’m currently in the midst of staging a fresh mission, which I hope to set off within the time frame of a week. It will hold weight for the outlook of the war…in theory. Unless you’re terribly opposed, I want you in that team. Your trio has demonstrated exceptional aptitude and enterprising performance on every instance that we’ve coordinated.”

Riv, pleased that her sister has faith in them, takes a gander at her companions.  
“Well, I’m excited for more opportunities…”

“If it fortifies the efforts in the war, to quicken its conclusion, I concede”, Rax verifies.

“Oh yeah, bring it on”, Thariss agrees. “Long as it pays decently.”

“Absolutely!”, Kass confirms. “I was afforded a considerable endowment from the Magisters. If you’re lucky, I might even be able to skim off a bit from the Kirin Tor coffers”, she says with an added playful wink at the end.

“Hah, that’s what I like to hear!”

“In the meantime, you should feel free to explore the city, take in the sights. I’ve arranged for two rooms. I presume that a split is what you prefer.”

“Quite right”, says Riv.

“Have you…received any word from Nadelgosa?”, asks Rax tentatively. “At Wyrmrest, she seemed to have withdrawn in the company of her brother and sister.”

Regrettably, Kass can only wave it off.  
“Alas, Dalaran must not have dropped into their thoughts. Nothing so far, I’m afraid.”

“Ah. I thank you nonetheless.”

Concurrently, Thariss trains her eyes on her fiancée, pulling the hunter in and nuzzling into her cheek.  
“By the way…you wanna check out the bed in that room or what?”, she whispers.

Riv’s ear flits, but in an intrigued capacity, as she inhibits the hint of a coy smile.  
“Tsk. That’s the first thing to erupt in your mind, is it?”

“Well, we’ve kinda been sleeping neck-deep in snow for like, weeks. Or months? Can’t even fucking count the length anymore. Just saying, it’d be pretty sweet.”

She arouses a giggling fit in Riv.  
“Fine, fine. I’ll indulge you. But this city is saturated with all sorts of pleasures. Perhaps later, we could…wander around?”

Thariss flashes a crooked grin, exposing her fangs.  
“Want me to spoil ya, huh?”

“Well, as your future wife…”, she insinuates teasingly.

At least she inspires a laugh in the warrior, who encircles Riv with her arms and uplifts her into a thriving kiss, one that the blood elf is more than delighted to respond to. The very sensation of this union and to feel the awaiting thrill of a holiday of sorts, however ephemeral, is rejuvenating.  
“You got it, gorgeous. I’ll show ya how to have a good time, despite knowing fuck all about this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Riv has a calming break, while Ash incurs a near-death experience. That's just how the cookie crumbles sometimes, I guess ___


	40. A faded limelight

Following hours of hard environmental heckling and incessant levels of frozen degrees, the blizzard that created the impression of chasing the Argent Crusade has thinned out and all but degraded. The wind has not all-out subsided, but it’s one that they can walk off.  
The aftershocks of the battle versus the Scourge brigade was a stark one. Though their numbers held strong, they have lost several stalwart, trusted and influential figures, not to mention the actual leader, Captain Briggton.

As much as she was gravitating towards it, Melia was conscious of that they couldn’t push forward in the disheveled state that they’d come under and had to put additional progress on ice. In contrast with the death knights and the Forsaken, the living needed some shuteye and to relax for a while. The Forsaken crusaders did not protest the motion of a bit of downtime, though, for they too had been burnt out by the toil of combat.

There aren’t a ton of alternatives out in the snowy moors, in no small part due to the Scourge’s thoughtless onslaught, as they’ve ravished a path of murder and devastation of Drakkari homes. It’s nothing save wreckage and ruins now.  
The crusaders can at least be grateful that the Ebon Blade cottoned onto them, for the knights’ immunity to the cold and their flexible ‘gifts’ have bestowed them with many answers to grievous plights. Together, they designed and planted a camp out here, a temporary shelter from when the snowstorm appeared to know no bounds, where they could tend to their wounded troops and mend their broken spirits. The latter also involved food and what drinks they could spare.

Once Ashindra and Melia have fixed and consumed a light meal, the Sergeant touches on a looming affair.  
“Is now not the optimal moment to have a chat with our rescuers, see what they have to say?”

Ash comes off as more stoked by the idea, while Melia is somewhat dizzy on the heels of Briggton’s death, and to once more be hurled into the dome of leadership. She toys with the conceit of deconstructing these disturbances with the paladin, but then recalibrates her internal fluctuations, to weather the twisters. Her hands lower the mug she had been drinking warm tea from, to remain heated, and draws in some air.  
“Yeah, it’s probably due now. Let’s see what they’re up to.”

Traversing the campsite, they track the Strike-Commander to an independent retreat of the Ebon Blade quarters. She hasn’t stashed anything fancy here, or even so much as a bed, just a cobbled together table of rocks and broken tiles. On top of it lies a mishmash of maps, records and reports, not all of them registered with Ebon Blade signatures.  
By her sides are two people, two other female knights in identical regalia as her own – the one on the left is a night elf with grey-orchid purple skin and short violet-pink-ish hair that has seemingly wilted to this color. To her right is a moss green troll with longer blue strands in a ponytail and fairly lavish ivory and slightly yellow tusks. The troll is better preserved than the elf, as far as vibrancy and animation goes.

Peculiarly, the two latter women are apparently fooling around a little to a tempered extent, joke-wise. The troll mildly bumps her elbow into the elf’s side, who regards her with a light frown, before pushing back with her own shoulder. The troll smirks and jabs a finger on her waist, which is naturally covered by armor and even though the elf bears a drier expression, she still retaliates with a favor in the same style. The sole reason they discontinue is by virtue of Trienza - plainly the one with the topmost position and seniority of the three - shifting to glare at the two, but not as harshly as one could presume. She just looks a tad done with their antics. For the two living women, this is a tempting insight into death knights and their dynamics. Not as austere and rigid as everyone had been led to believe. Then again, maybe this deduction should be a given, in light of how wildly and indiscriminately rumors spread. And who wouldn’t be hasty to denounce undead as nothing but depraved sociopaths? It is the stereotype.

At this close distance, the duo also translates another kernel of truth, characteristic to Trienza. She does not exude a wintery wind on a nonstop basis. She is like any other person outside of battle. Well, barring the whole being dead part.  
Melia stays in proximity of Ash, on the brink of clasping her hand, but with the responsibility of being Briggton’s replacement, she stays firm, her heart stout. This is the leader of a prospective ally, but she doesn’t want to be deemed weak or sentimental to a fault.

Trienza, who isn’t wielding her helmet anymore, keeps up her rather curt and cold exterior. Ash didn’t rightly know her to any intimate value pre-invasion, but she’s acquainted with the stories told by Rivaryn. Her ex’s words were not horror tales of legends and nightmares, but if memory serves, Ranger-Captain Sah’nir could be a severe personality, hard-boiled and hardline, but not ruthless. Emphatically the type of person who would head up an uprising, should she be freed from her slaver. She wasn’t patriotic as much as loyal; more so to her fellow soldiers than her King. That she would now handle a sword, as opposed to a bow, also fits the bill. She was adaptable, resourceful, a ranger first and foremost, without the same affinity for animals like Riv.

Melia is stuck in a state of being swamped with emotions and dread for the dictates she has to issue, but thankfully, as they arrive, Trienza doesn’t give them a hard time. With a tiny fraction of awe, the crusaders are greeted gregariously by the Commander. She faces them and dips her head with respect.  
“Lieutenant Haven, Sergeant Revenor, well met. Are you doing alright?”

The priestess smooths out her sleeves and clears her throat.  
“Yes, thank you, we’re making do. Your concern is gratifying. But we’re not fully in shape, I’m sad to relay. Plenty of internal injuries and illnesses to address. Our troops aren’t in a great place.”

“Your restoration spells aren’t operational?”

“Well…the Light is malleable, but not indefinite. It tends to be favorable for shutting exterior harm and numbing pain, but beyond that, it grows dicey.”

The Commander nods slowly, her face neutral.  
“I see. Can we render additional assistance?” She disrupts herself before an answer has even been expended. “Hmm. I must profess that I don’t quite know what that would consist of. Our reputation isn’t founded on any healing abilities.”

Melia’s lips coil into a scant smile.  
“It’s okay. We’ve got what we need to scrape by.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Are you the commander of this detachment?”

It may not have been her intent, but the inquiry does throw Melia off balance at first. She has imagined it, felt it, absorbed it, but not…expressed it out loud. But now she has agency in the matter. Time to own up.  
“I…suppose I have to acknowledge that, yes, I am. We’ve got two Second Lieutenants, a few Sergeants – including Ash here – some Corporals, but…as the solitary First Lieutenant in the bunch, I’m the ranking officer, so the torch has flumped to me.”

“You don’t sound enthralled with the notion.”

Melia subconsciously fidgets with the sleeve of her robes, avoiding a direct engagement with Trienza’s eyes.  
“We just lost our true CO, a man I held in regard. It’s…rough and not an outcome I ever salivate for.”

Now grokking the tone at hand, Trienza ruminates on this case, to frame a valid reaction. She nods upon discovery.  
“My apologies. I can relate to your predicament better than you may suspect. In the fall of my homeland, cruel fate levied much of the same on me, and even more ghastly on those who endured at my demise.  
But you shouldn’t lose hope. The fact that you’re still alive, still prepared to make heavy and pivotal decisions, and took the majority of your people out of the onslaught you went through, is a good sign. Take heart that your Captain would not have regretted his sacrifice if you persevere. Trust me, I speak from experience.”

Melia has to give props to the elf, for her chest now feels a little less ungainly.  
“I…thank you, Commander. That does make it somewhat easier.”

“Don’t mention it. But since we are now communicating lead to lead, I believe it’s only pertinent that I introduce other elements of my cadre and troops. The duo here in my company is Sydela and Lah’kur, my aides.”

“…your aides?”, Ash repeats.

“Yes. They assist me with a bevy of tasks and duties.”

“We’re mainly her bodyguards”, states Sydela flatly, the night elf. Her voice employs a reflection that resembles Trienza’s, possibly a standard among death knights.

“And advisors”, adds Lah’kur, which also substantiates their assumptions about the voice reverberation. “We trained under her in separate batches, but independently developed a bond. We be serving her stronger dis way.”

Melia’s eyes suddenly bug out.  
“Hold a sec – Sydela? I know that name! Weren’t you in-“

Sydela has a marginally sedated appearance, but not as strictly as Trienza.  
“The Argent Dawn, yes”, she cuts short. “Shocked that you remember. Haven, right?”

The Lieutenant nods slowly, still swimming in these evocative streams.  
“I…yeah. You were one of the fatalities at Naxxramas.”

Hearing these quite poignant assertions, Ash’s gaze flickers back and forth.  
“Were you two…friends?”

“No”, Sydela abruptly corrects, “but there weren’t many of us, so it isn’t hard to keep records of faces.”

“Yeah…”, says Melia with far less conviction.

“Why did you join the Dawn?”, prods Ash.

The kaldorei reflexively stares down at Ash’s tabard – dissimilar, albeit pulls at her lifeless heart.  
“Revenge.”

“For what?”

“The undead liches under the Burning Legion killed my brother at Mount Hyjal and then brought his body back to fight me. I…had to put him down. As the Dawn sent out a call for allies to vanquish the Scourge, I was quick to snatch it up. Thought I’d shatter their menace for good.”

Ash pensively kneads her own arm.  
“And then…” She exhales. “My condolences.”

The kaldorei shrugs, though it’s undistinguishable whether it’s a trained response or not.  
“It’s a done and dusted deal.”

With a silent intermission, Ash surveys the stance and height of the troll, now that they’re up close. She’s taller than Sydela, arguably even superseding Thariss, whom Sydela is evidently below. The kaldorei operates a modified moonglaive with Ebon Blade-esque runes, while Lah’kur keeps twin one-handed runeaxes at her belt.  
To her slight surprise, she notes patches of moss on the troll’s skin, partially inserted, though much of it is shriveled and withered now. Perhaps it has effectively retained its integrity by means of the various necromantic agents that synthesizes her undead form.

“Wait, I thought you were Darkspear, but…you’re…Amani?”

Lah’kur lets out a faint and smug laughter, docking her hands at her hips.  
“Figured it out, did ya? It be a long while since I saw home, but yes, yah guess is on de mark, lil’ elf.”

“How did one of the Amani come to join the Ebon Blade?”

The troll narrows her icy blue, almost white, spiritless eyes.  
“Tsk. No one ‘joins’ us. Not freely, anyway.  
As for me, I was amid de fallen in de outskirts o’ de Scourge attack on yah elven lands. Led one of de groups which were to launch attacks on yah people, as de undead went on a slaughtering craze. We of de Amani, having been robbed of our own territory from your ancestors, we wanted to exploit de opportunity provided.”  
A wistful whiff washes over her, as she rubs her right tusk.  
“Unfortunately, I be too thrilled, too itching for blood and in de thick of our assault, we rammed right into a Scourge division dat dey be leaving for finishing stragglers.” She snorts and shakes her head with just minor regret. “We fought long and hard, but our defeat was inevitable. We were overwhelmed, taking our dying breaths side by side with de elves. De undead and their necromancer masters didn’t care who we were, other than more flesh for de pile.”

Quite a tale, and one with flighty judgments. Ash isn’t sure what to make of it.  
“It doesn’t erm, bother you then, that you now take orders from an elf?”

Lah’kur shrugs in an unruffled manner, not displaying any major ill effects.  
“Not really. Things have changed now. As Commander Palesun here is so fond of tattling – we are all Ebon Blades now.”

She gleefully smirks at Trienza, who merely swivels her head. It’s a reference which neither of the duo gleans, but they can comprehend the nickname.  
“Let’s press forward”, states the Commander. “Lieutenant, what have you done with your casualties?”

“The uh, the dead?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, we’ve preserved them for the time being. We endeavor to bring them along until-“

But Trienza waves her hand in rejection.  
“Burn them.” Ash blinks and Melia is left summarily baffled. “You may seek to ship them all back home, which is commendable, but unsound. For the sake of your team’s stability and to negate the Lich King’s reanimation range, you must dispose of them forthwith.”

Well…at least she’s direct, if a tinge too blunt. Melia rubs her hands together as she deliberates on her reply.  
“I uh, don’t necessarily take issue with that wholeheartedly on a pragmatic degree, but…their families might.”

“Hmm. Granted, but we must consider the bigger picture. If you do require materials to return with, then sift out personal effects, mementos. I do appreciate the gist behind letting their homes have closure, but out here on the tundra, a corpse is a hazard. The bodies must go, for better or worse.”

Despite a measure of reluctance, Melia tracks the logic and relinquishes her protests.  
“Alright”, she concedes tentatively. “Reckon that you’re right in that this may be the path we have to travel.”

“I endorse this selection, Lieutenant”, utters Ash, showing her support. “The safety of the team comes first.”

As the conversation washes off, Trienza picks up on a sixth person that approaches, a human. His helmet is detached, hence why she can visualize his face.  
“Ah, Wilthorn. Come.”

For a second, Melia freezes up, prior to rapidly swirling to aim at the incoming figure – a human indeed, his skin a shade darker brown than hers, with traces of grey now in death, his thin wavy textured hair and full beard a faded black. Half of the south side of his face is faintly scarred, as if someone has burnt or boiled that section. Even so, it cannot be mistaken that this is the man she can identify with, a man she’s well-versed in.

She detects her throat dehydrating, and so tries to swallow, shortly ahead of greeting him.  
“H-hello Wilthorn. It’s uh…it’s been a while.”

Sadly, he is either in a similar embroilment or there are outlying values infringing on him. He’s outwardly uncomfortable, merely able to proffer a nod, his new ghostly eyes hardly meeting hers at all. Is he ashamed to stand in front of an old friend, or does he foster a grudge, holding her culpable for his affliction?  
Whatever the case, he maneuvers his gaze at Trienza, borderline pleadingly.  
“Commander.” The same quivering, muffled inflection as the others.

Trienza likely carries sympathy for his quandary and inclines her head.  
“This is Wilthorn Siddall, my second-in-command. He has served me since Icecrown.”

Melia swallows once more, but in this occasion legitimately unclogging her throat.  
“I…figured that. We’re…acquainted.”  
She discerns how Ash subtly caresses her back, an effort she’s immensely grateful for, that she has anyone at all. Does Wilthorn? Is this his family now, his friends?

“Commander”, he speaks calmly. “I’m reporting in regard to our campsite’s safety quality. We haven’t scouted this neighborhood a whole lot. I reckon its time for a turnaround, and I volunteer to head the commitment up.”

The high elf rubs her chin with a level of unease.  
“Yes, I believe I’m on board with your evaluation. Fine, grab whomever you estimate as significant and go a few rounds.”

He salutes her crisply and then affords Melia a terse final look, before donning his helmet and unceremoniously departing.  
“Wilthorn, wait”, she reaches out, but he doesn’t stop, unwilling to engage.

Ash grazes her fingers over the priestess’ arm.  
“Are you okay?”, she whispers.

A couple of seconds passes, until she briefly dips her head.  
“I’ll handle it.”

“You can go find him later.”

“…maybe.”

As they are not privy to the particulars of this murmur, Trienza redevotes them onto their conversation.  
“We have a case at hand that has to be sorted. Namely, your Crusade and its status. I could be swayed to deploy my platoon to stand vigil with you, on your trail to a nearby base, should this be your ambition. However, I must warn you that we cannot conduct the full length of the trip.  
We are by ourselves on a pivotal mission, you see.”

Ash’s ears tingle with captivation.  
“What kind of mission?”

“Not a confidential one, if you’re curious, though it harbors a covert angle. We’re stalking a san’layn, going under the identity of Prince Acranius.”

A scarce frown descends upon the paladin’s brow.  
“That rings a bell. The san’layn I squared off with, and whom you slew, I can swear he cited that name. Deriving from some Citadel, correct?”

“Quite so – the August Corona Citadel. An extravagant name for a necropolis, but not impregnable. We aim to lay waste to the facility. The Lord you vied with was one of his subordinates.”

“Then who, more specifically, is Prince Acranius?”, wonders Melia.

“As I referred, he is one of the san’layn. The word is of ancient thalassian origin, meaning roughly ‘Darkfallen’, which in and of itself is well-founded, for they were once quel’dorei and sin’dorei. They are undead in nature, subsisting off of the blood from mortal creatures, unequivocally routed at the sentient races of Azeroth. Prince Acranius is entwined with their chain of command, only a step or two beneath the Blood Prince Council. Their ultimate leader is known as Blood-Queen Lana’thel, who serves the Lich King. I know very little of her, but I speculate she was once a Magister, albeit not one with optimal clout.  
As for Acranius, he is at the moment prospecting Zul’Drak, hoping to find some manner of power to devitalize and quicken the reaping of this nation, means which supposedly does exist in some remote location. Thwarting the Scourge and terminating them altogether is the primary objective on the Ebon Blade’s agenda. This is why I’m of the belief that hunting and eradicating the Prince is instrumental towards that goal. This is our current task and by extension, the demolishment of his Citadel. The Drakkari may not be our allies, but if their people fall unabridged, then the Scourge will attain a massive quantity of strength and proportions.”

Unfolding the truth, Ash comes to a realization.  
“Well, as a matter of fact, the Argent Crusade shares an identical mission. Lieutenant, don’t you agree that it would be apt to pursue a partnership under these conditions?”

Melia’s expression isn’t imbued with dissent, just a smidgen of reservations.  
“Uh, well, the default framing of this inquiry isn’t wrong, but I’m fuzzy on the assets we’ve accrued. The Crusade has injured, which is a notable chunk of our numbers. The knights we can spy around the premises, is that all you’ve brought?”

“Let me assure you, Lieutenant”, voices Trienza sincerely, “that every individual death knight is a ferocious entity, a veritable storm of carnage, beyond the larger mass of mortals, which should not be underestimated."

“I…yeah, I wasn’t-“

“But no, it is not. We don’t have more Ebon Blades in the works per se, but rather allies which we are to assemble with – a regiment of Zandalari trolls are to be brought on board in a few days. Hence the tight deadline.”

The priestess guides her next query at the troll.  
“Erm, knight Lah’kur, was it? I’m not especially educated in troll international politics. Are you better apprised of these Zandalari?”

Lah’kur is moderately confounded by the question.  
“…huh? Ya asking me? Eh, In short, no. Can’t tell ya anything broadly, for during my lifetime, we never had a close relationship with dem islanders. It be many a century since de ‘Troll Wars’, dat Amani and Zandalari fought together and we last had a stable dialogue. We ‘disappointed’ dem, by losing to yah people and de elves. Never met a person from Zandalar.”

“Oh, okay. Do you know any stories of them?”

She shrugs casually.  
“Tall, sturdy, old, bigheaded. That’s about de sum of it.”

Their assignment at hand is report to a Crusade base and Melia does not yearn to shirk their duties, but in the same manner, this is conclusively a mission of some magnitude. Seconds elapses, up till Melia narrows down her call.  
“Alright, I’m enacting an executive decision – we’re going with you. But, there’s some caveats we’re straddled with, chiefly that we’d have to somehow restore or drop off our casualties and stock up on supplies.”

“Death knights have no attachment to the nourishment of the living”, Trienza enlightens them, “nor sleep for that matter. But I am positive that the Zandalari can assist you on the latter front. In fact, they may possess magic to guarantee both.  
As for the circumstances of the injured, we can warrant them a day at the furthest, potentially two, but then the columns shall have to march. We will have to assess where and how to unload them, if it’s made essential.”

“Yeah, I…reckon that’s the max we can ask for. I’ll confer with my other medical personnel, and we’ll compile some diagnoses.”

“Terrific. Then we shall delve into the rest once you’re finished.”

In the fallout of the talks, prior to both sides parting, Ash attempts to touch base with the Commander.  
“Trienza?”

The judgment to use her name – and first name to boot – amasses the sensibilities and inquisitiveness of the aides. Trienza halts in her pace, taking a gander over her shoulder.  
“Yes, _Sergeant_?”

Her tone is colder than earlier, stiffer. Ash nearly gulps, aware that she can’t trip up now, or an avalanche might devour her.  
“I uhm, was wondering if we could…have a chat.”

“About?”

“There are…matters that we should possibly discuss. Certain…issues.”

Trienza bequeathed her a handful of seconds to arrange her premise, but with it exposed, she rebuffs the remainders.  
“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am party to this invasion explicitly to fight the Scourge, Revenor. I presume you endeavor to carry out a quest not unlike mine.”

“Yes, but-“

“Then let’s not linger on unnecessities. This is our duty, our burdens, and we should focus on fulfilling them. The past is irrelevant.”

But is it? If it were, for what reason would Trienza ardently gun for the Lich King?  
“Commander-“

“Time is of the essence”, she accentuates. “There are far too many heavy fates at stake. Either you and your Crusade join us on the journey, or we will leave you behind in the snow. There are no grounds for redundant talk – patch up your wounded and prepare to depart on the allotted period.”

Before she has more to say, Ash dispenses one last-ditch bid, though it may appear misspent.  
“Trienza…Rivaryn is here. On Northrend.”

The Commander muzzles excess grouching and both of her aides are now more riveted than ever, with Lah’kur’s eyebrow rising and Sydela’s ears flickering.  
Nothing but wind fills the brittle silence, but Trienza doesn’t comment. With her back turned, she disengages, the thumping of her boots that crack the snow ringing in the area.


End file.
